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', 41 







FULL-BACK FOSTER 


BY 

RALPH HENRY BARBOUR 

Author of “ The Crimsoo Sweater,” ‘‘ Left End Edwards,” 
” Left Tackle Thayer,” “Left Guard Gilbert,” etc. 




WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

E. C. CASWELL 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
1919 



COPTRIOHT, 1919 

By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, 1*0. 




/ *. 

OCT 28 


tCl* Guilin Se iioben Comnanp 

BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
RAHWAY NEW JERSEY 


©CI.A5 3 6;3 5 3 


A' 


f 


I 




CONTENTS 


cr 


(3 

O 

CO 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Myron Arrives.1 

II So Does Joe Dobbins * . . 13 

III The ‘Impossible Fellow*’ . . 24 

IV Myron Decides to Stay ... 36 

V On the Gridiron .... 48 

VI “A. T. Merriman” .... 60 

VII With the Awkward Squad . . 70 

VIII Joe Talks Sense . . . . 82 

IX Myron Loses His Temper . . 96 

X The Challenge.110 

XI IMyron Misses an Engagement . 121 

XII Eldredge Eejects a Substitute . 132 

XIII Myron Changes His Mind . . 145 

XIV “Chas” ...... 157 

XV The Plan ...... 173 

XVI Conspiracy . . .• . . 184 

XVII A Chance Encounter . . . 196 

XVIII Myron Gets His Chance . . . 211 

V 





vi 

CONTENTS 


XIX 

Doctor Lane Intervenes 

226 

XX 

Andy Takes a Journey . 

. 236 

XXI 

An Early Morning Call . 

. 249 

XXII 

Myron Comes Back 

. 259 

XXIII 

Eeinstated .... 

. 269 

XXIV 

Eddie Applies the Brake . 

. 279 

XXV. 

False Colours 

. 293 

XXVI 

Behind the Stand . . 

. 305 

XXVII 

Full-Back Foster . r.. 

.. 317 



ILLUSTRATIONS 


He felt that he was being discussed . Frontispiece ' 

FACING 

PAOB 

‘‘You let me up ...... 142 "^ 

The stranger was treated to quite a fund of 

information.200 

Straight across the last white line to victory 324 ^ 



FULL-BACK FOSTER 


CHAPTER I 

MYRON ARRIVES 

His name was Myron War rent on Foster, and he 
came from Port Foster, Delaware. In age he was 
seventeen, but he looked more. He was large for 
his years, but, since he was well proportioned, the 
fact was not immediately apparent. What did 
strike you at once were good looks, good health 
and an air of well-being. The pleasing impres¬ 
sion made by the boy^s features was, however, 
somewhat marred by an expression of self-satis¬ 
faction, and it may be that the straight, well-knit 
figure carried itself with an air of surety that was 
almost complacent. So, at least, thought one who 
witnessed Myron^s descent from the New York 
train that September afternoon. 

“There’s a promising-looking chap,” said Jud 
Mellen, “but he somehow gives you the impres¬ 
sion that he’s bought Warne and has come down 
to look the town over.” 


1 


2 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

Harry Cater laughed as he picked his trunk 
check from a handful of coins. “Lots of ’em look 
that way when they first arrive, Jud. I’m not 
sure you didn’t yourself,” he added slyly. 

“If I did, I soon got over it.” The football 
captain smiled drily, his gaze following the sub¬ 
ject of their remarks. “Just as I suspected,” he 
continued. “It’s a taxi for his. Four blocks is 
too far for the poor frail lad.” 

“Oh, come, Jud, be fair. Maybe he doesn’t 
know whether the school’s four blocks or forty. 
Besides, he’s much too beautifully got up to tramp 
it. He might get dust on that corking suit of his.” 

“It is rather a good-looking outfit, and that’s 
a fact. Maybe if I was dolled up like that I’d 
want to ride, too. Well, come on, Katie, and let’s 
get up there. Practice is at three, and you’ve got 
only about forty minutes to find yourself in.” 

Harry Cater, or “Katie,” as he was known at 
Parkinson School, had been more charitable than 
correct in assuming that the new boy was un¬ 
certain of the distance between station and school, 
for the catalogue had definitely said four blocks. 
But had the distance been two short blocks in¬ 
stead of four long ones it is unlikely that Myron 
Foster would have walked. Not that he had any¬ 
thing against walking; he recognised it as a 


MYEON AERIVES 


3 


healthful and beneficial form of exercise, as well 
as a pleasant occupation under some circum¬ 
stances; but he was used to patronising auto¬ 
mobiles when it was necessary to get from one 
place to another. At home there were two cars 
usually at his service, and when he was away 
from home a taxi-cab served as well. He couldn’t 
remember when walking had been a necessity, 
for prior to the autos there had been carriages, 
and before the carriages—which had included a 
pony-cart for his e^ecial use—there had been an 
English perambulator with easy springs and 
shining varnished leather top; and beyond that 
his memory didn’t go. 

The vehicle that Myron found himself in 
brought a smile of amused disdain to his face. It 
was cheap and small and none too clean, and it 
made more noise as it whisked over the cobbles 
than a boiler works. However, when it crossed 
Adams Street and reached the asphalt it quieted 
down considerably and its occupant was able to 
obtain a rather more distinct impression of the 
little town that was to have the honour of being 
his place of residence for the ensuing nine months. 
He rather liked what he could see of it, especially 
when, having bumped across the trolley tracks 
on Main Street, he found himself in what was 


4 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

evidently the residential part of Warne. The 
shops had given way to neat, sometimes rather 
shov^', dwellings on his right, set behind picket 
fences or lilac hedges, the latter looking sere and 
frowsy after a hot summer. On his left was a 
quaint, century-old burying ground in which mossy 
slate slabs leaned precariously under the cool, 
deep shadows of giant elms and maples. The 
church beyond, with its unlovely square steeple, 
peered through the trees in friendly fashion at 
the newcomer. At the next intersection the boy 
caught a glimpse of the inscription ‘‘Washington 
Ave.” on a signboard, and in the next moment had 
his first view of the school. To his left the campus 
stretched for two long blocks, a level oblong of 
green turf intersected by gravel paths and shaded 
by linden trees. Beyond the campus the school 
buildings ran in a straight line, or, to be exact, 
five of them did; there were several others out of 
position, so to speak, among them that to which 
he was being whisked. From Maple Street the 
taxi bounded on two wheels around a corner into 
a gravelled avenue, past the little brick Adminis¬ 
tration Building, turned again by the gymnasium 
and a moment later brought up with a squeaking 
of brakes in front of Sohmer Hall. 

Sohmer was the most recent addition to the 


MYRON ARRIVES 


5 


dormitories, and the most luxurious. Although 
it followed the architectural style of the others 
and, at first glance, looked quite as old and quite 
as New England, it nevertheless possessed modifi¬ 
cations that stood for a convenience and comfort 
that the other dormitories lacked. The driver of 
the taxi, a sandy-haired, gum-chewing young man 
with the cheap air of a village ‘ ‘ sport,looked 
disdain as Myron pointed to the bro’wn leather kit¬ 
bag and remarked carelessly; “You might just 
fetch that along.’’ 

“Sure!” jeered the driver, pushing back a bat¬ 
tered straw imitation of a Panama hat from his 
heated brow and grinning widely. “And maybe 
you’d like me to unpack it for you, kid, and hang 
up your things? I ain’t got nothing else to do, 
and a quarter’s a lot of money, and-” 

“I haven’t asked you what I owed yet, have 
I?” said Myron. “If carrying that bag is worth 
another quarter why not carry it and get the 
money? I dare say I can scrape up a half some¬ 
how!” 

“Oh, why n’t you say so?” muttered the other. 
“How’d I know you was John D. Vanderbilt? 
Where’s it going?” 

“Number 17, wherever that is. Second floor, 
I think.” 


6 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 

“Most of you guys/’ continued the driver af¬ 
fably as he led the way up the slate stairway, 
“expects us to lug trunks and everything and 
don’t want to slip us anything extra. Nothing 
doing! I’m willing to be obliging, see, but I ain’t 
in business for my health, mister. Here you are, 
sir. Number 17, you said? Door’s unlocked. 
Gee, some room, ain’t it? What about your trunk, 
sir? Want me to fetch it for you?” 

‘ ‘ No, it’s coming by express. That’s all, thanks. 
Here you are. There’s a quarter for the ride, a 
quarter for the bag and a quarter for a tip. All 
right?” ^ 

“Sure! You’re a real gentleman, mister. Say, 
any time you want a taxi or—or anything, see, you 
send for me. Name’s Eddie Moses. Telephone 
to Benton’s cigar store and they’ll give me the 
call.” 

“All right, Eddie. All doors open out.” 

“That so? Oh, all right. You can be sassy 
with me any time you like for a quarter!” And 
Mr. Eddie Moses, chuckling at his wit, took him¬ 
self away, leaving Myron at leisure to look around 
his quarters. 

Number 17 Sohmer consisted of two rooms, a 
good-sized square study and a sleeping room off 
it. The study ydndows—there were two of them 


MYRON ARRIVES 7 

—overlooked the campus, although this afternoon, 
since the lindens still held their leaves, the 
view was restricted to so much of the campus as 
lay between the hall and the path that stretched 
from the gymnasium to the main gate on Wash¬ 
ington Avenue. The bedroom also had a window 
with a similar outlook. This apartment was only 
large enough to hold the two single beds, the two 
chiffoniers and the two straight-backed chairs con¬ 
stituting its furnishing, and Myron soon turned 
back from the doorway and removed his gaze to 
the study again. There were, he decided, possi- 
^bilities in the study. Of course he would get rid 
of the present junk, but it must serve until his 
furniture came from home, which ought to be in 
another three or four days. It had been his 
mother’s idea to ship the things from his grey 
and yellow room at Warrenton Hall. She thought 
Myron would be less homesick if surrounded by 
the familiar objects of home. Myron’s own idea 
had been to purchase a new outfit in Philadelphia, 
but when he had seen how set his mother had been 
on her plan he had not insisted. The only thing 
that troubled him now was that, recalling the 
number and generous proportions of the articles 
on the way, he feared the study would be far too 
small to hold them! Why, his couch alone would 


8 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


take up almost all of the end of the room where 
the windows were! Well, he would just have to 
use what he could and store the other things some¬ 
where : or send them home again. 

He had tossed his hat on the stained table that 
occupied the centre of the study—in shape that 
hat was not unlike the one worn by Eddie Mose^, 
but all similarity ended right there—and now he 
removed his jacket of steel-grey, serge-like ma¬ 
terial, rolled up the sleeves of a pale yellow silk 
shirt and passed into the bedroom to wmsh. It may 
be well to state in passing that Myron affected grey 
and yellow, both in his room furnishings and in 
his attire. It was a conceit of Mrs. Foster’s. She 
was fond of colour combinations and, could she 
have had her way, would have prescribed for 
every member of her household. But Myron was 
the only one who consented to be guided by her 
taste. He didn’t care a rap whether his wall¬ 
paper was grey with yellow stripes or purple with 
pink daisies, only, having been told that grey-and- 
yellow suited him wonderfully he accepted it as 
a fact, said that it “looked all right, he supposed,” 
and was soon a willing slave to the grey-and-yel- 
low habit. Mrs. Foster’s attempt to persuade her 
husband to pin his taste to brown-and-lilac, how- 


MYRON ARRIVES 


9 


ever, was a wretched failure. Mr. Foster snorted 
disgustedly and went right on buying green and 
magenta neckties and socks that made his wife' 
shudder. 

Having washed his hands and face and dried 
them on a handkerchief—a soft, pure-linen atfair 
with a monogram worked in one corner in grey 
and yellow—Myron opened his kit-bag and un¬ 
packed, stowing the things neatly and systemati¬ 
cally in one of the chiffoniers. He would, he re¬ 
flected, get them to take the other chiffonier and 
the other bed out. As he was to occupy Number 
17 alone there was no need of them. When the 
bag was unpacked and set in a corner of the closet 
he donned his jacket again and strolled to a win¬ 
dow. The campus was livening up. Although 
the foliage hid the other buildings very effectually 
he could hear the patter of feet on gravel and 
steps, voices in shouts or laughter and, from 
somewhere, the tuning of a banjo. As he looked 
down, leaning from the sill, two lads came across 
the grass and paused a little further along under 
a window. They were in flannels, and one carried 
a racket. They tilted their heads and hailed: 

^‘0 Jimmy! Jimmy Lynde! IJe-e-ey, Jimmy! 
Jimmy-y-yP’ 


10 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

After a moment a voice answered from a 
neighbouring window: ‘‘Hello, Gus, you old 
rascal! ’Lo, Petey! How’s everything!” 

“Lovely. Come and have a game. Channing’s 
over there, and he and Pete’ll play you and me. 
Huh! Oh, forget it! There’s oodles of time for 
that. All right, hustle along. We’ll go on over. 
Get a move on!” 

The two waved and turned toward the gym¬ 
nasium. Myron felt a trifle lonesome when they 
had gone, for it came to him that he was a stranger 
in a strange land. He wondered how long it 
would be before fellows stopped under his window 
and called to him. It probably didn’t take long 
to get acquainted, he decided, but still he sort of 
wished he knew at least one of his school-fellows 
as a starter. Perhaps, after all, it would have 
been nicer to have had a room-mate. Personally, 
he hadn’t cared much one way or the other, but 
his mother had exclaimed in horror at the idea 
of his sharing his room with a strange boy. 
“Wliy, you can’t tell what sort of a person he 
might be, Myron dear,” she had protested. “Of 
course we know that Parkinson is one of the nicest 
schools and that some of the very best people 
send their sons there, but nowadays it’s quite im¬ 
possible to keep the wrong sort out of anywhere. 


MYRON ARRIVES 11 

It would be awful if you found yourself with some 
dreadful low kind of boy.'' So Myron had said, 
“Oh, all right, Mater," and dismissed the notion. 
And maybe she was right, too, for it would be a 
frightful bore to have to live in such close quarters 
with some ‘ ‘ roughneck.'' On the whole he guessed 
he was better off alone, even if he did feel rather 
lonely for a few days. 

He recalled the fact that he hadn't yet regis¬ 
tered at the Office, or wherever you did register, 
but he had until six to do that, and a glance at a 
handsome thin-case gold watch showed that the 
time was still short of three. But it was dull up 
here, and stuffy, too, and he guessed he'd go down 
and look the place over. As he turned from his 
window he became aware of the fact that the 
dormitory was no longer quiet. Doors opened 
and closed, feet shuffled on the stairs and there 
were sounds of talking and singing and whistling. 
It certainly sounded more cheerful, he thought. 
The taxi driver had closed the door behind him, 
and now Myron started across the study to open 
it. Maybe if it was open some one might see him 
and drop in. He put his hat back on the table, 
deciding not to go out just yet. As he reached 
his han^toward the doorknob there were sounds 
of heavy footsteps outside. Then something 


12 


FULL-BACK POSTER 


thumped against the door, a voice muttered- 

Myron pulled the portal open. Framed in the 
doorway stood a veritable giant of a boy, a bat¬ 
tered valise in each hand, a ragged-edged stiff 
straw hat tilted far back from his perspiring 
countenance and a none too clean handkerchief 
dangling from inside a wilted collar. 

“Atta boy!’^ said the stranger genially, and 
then, to Myron’s amazement, he piled into the 
study, fairly sweeping the other aside, dropped 
his bags with mighty thuds on the floor and 
mopped his broad face with the dangling hand¬ 
kerchief. ^‘Geewhillikins, but that’s some tote, 
kiddo!” he observed with an all-encompassing 
grin. ‘M’m sweating like a horse!” 

‘‘It is warm,” replied Myron in a voice that 
was quite otherwise. “But haven’t you—er— 
made a mistake?” 

“Watyer mean, mistake?” asked the other, 
puzzled. 

“In the room. This is seventeen.” 

“Sure! That’s all right. I just came from the 
Office. That Hoyt guy said seventeen. And, say, 
kiddo, it’s some swell dive, ain’t it? Guess you 
and I are lucky guys, all right, to get it, eh?” 


CHAPTER II 


so DOES JOE DOBBINS 

Myron didn’t know who ‘‘that Hoyt guy” might 
be, but he was sure that he or some one else had 
made a horrible mistake. Why, this big, good- 
natured, badly-dressed boy was the roughest sort 
of a “roughneck,” the identical type, doubtless, 
that his mother had spoken of so distastefully! 
Myron viewed him during a moment of silence, at 
a loss for words. The newcomer had removed his 
tattered hat and was now struggling with a jacket 
that, far too tight in the sleeves, parted reluctantly 
from the moist garments beneath. But it came 
off finally and the boy tossed it carelessly to a 
chair and stretched a pair of long arms luxuri¬ 
ously ere he sank onto it. “That train was like 
a furnace all the way, and the ice-water gave out 
at Hartford,” he said. “Well, here we are, 
though. What’s your name I Mine’s Dobbins; 
Joe Dobbins, only they generally call me 
‘Whoa.’ ” 

“My name is Foster,” replied Myron rather 
weakly. 


13 


14 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘Foster, eh? That’s all right. I know a fel¬ 
low at home name of Foster. Drives for Gandell 
and Frye. They’re the big dry-goods folks. He’s 
an all-right guy, too, Sam is. He and I used to 
be pretty thick before I came away. Were you 
here last year, Foster?” 

“No, I—this is my first year.” 

“Wliat class?” 

“Third, I expect.” 

“Same here. I’m new, too. I was at St. 
Michael’s last year, until April. I beat it then. 
Got in wrong with faculty, you know.” He 
smiled and winked. “Great little school, St. 
Michael’s, but sort of narrow. My old man said 
he guessed I needed more elbow-room. So I 
thought I’d try this place. Looks all right so far; 
sort of pretty: plenty of trees. I like trees. Grew 
up with ’em. Maybe that’s why. Dad made his 
money out of trees.” 

“Indeed?” responded Myron, coldly polite. 
“Lumber, I suppose.” 

“Wrong, kiddo. Spruce gum.” 

“Oh!” 

“Maybe you’ve heard of him: Tom Dobbins: 
the Spruce Gum King, some call him.” 

Myron shook his head. For some absurd reason 


so DOES JOE DOBBINS 15 

he felt slightly apologetic, and was angry with 
himself for it. 

“No? Well, I guess you don’t come from my 
part of the country. Portland, Maine’s, my home. 
We’ve been living there six or seven years. I 
missed the woods at first a heap, let me tell you. 
Why, we used to live right in ’em: big trees all 
around; no town nearer than six miles. I was 
born there, in a log house. So were my three 
sisters. Them was the happy days, as the guy 
says.” 

“Very—very interesting, I’m sure,” said 
Myron, “but about this room, Dobbins; You’re 
quite certain that they told you Number 17?” 

“Sure! Why not? What’s wrong with it?” 
Dobbins gazed questioningly about the study and 
then leaned forward to peer through the open 
door of the bedroom. “Looks all right. Plumb¬ 
ing out o’ order, or something? Any one had 
smallpox here? What’s the idea?” 

‘ ‘ The idea, ’ ’ replied Myron a bit hauglitily, ‘ ‘ is 
that I am supposed to have this suite to myself. 
I particularly asked for a single suite. In fact, 
I am paying for one. So I presume that either 
you or I have made a mistake.” 

Dobbins whistled. Then he laughed enjoyably. 


16 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


Myron thought it was a particularly unpleasant 
laugh. ^‘Say, that’s rich, ain’t it?” asked Dob¬ 
bins finally. ‘‘No wonder you were sort of stand¬ 
offish, kiddo! Gee, it’s a wonder you didn’t biff 
*me a couple and throw me out on my bean! I’ll 
say it is I Butting in on your—er—privacy, like, 
eh? Say, I’m sure that Hoyt guy said seventeen, 
but he may have got his wires crossed. I’ll mosey 
over and-” 

“Don’t bother. I haven’t registered yet. I’ll 
straighten it out. Maybe he meant one of the 
other halls.” 

“Might be,” said Dobbins doubtfully, “but he 
sure said Sohmer. This is Sohmer, ain’t it?” 

“Yes. Well, I’ll find out about it. Meanwhile 
you might just—er—wait.” 

“Got you, kiddo. I’ll come along, though, if 
you say so. I don’t mind. I’m fine and cool now. 
Maybe I’d better, eh?” 

“No, no,” replied Myron quickly. “You stay 
here.” He repressed a shudder at the thought of 
being seen walking into the Administration Build¬ 
ing with Dobbins! For fear that the latter would 
insist on accompanying him, he seized his hat and 
fairly bolted, leaving the intruder in possession 
of the disputed premises. 

The Administration Building was but a few 


so DOES JOE DOBBINS 


17 


rods away, and Myron, nursing his indignation, 
was soon there. But it was evident that he would 
have to wait a considerable time, for the space 
outside the railing that divided the secretary’s 
office in half was well filled with returning stu¬ 
dents. There was nothing for Myron to do save 
take his place in the line that wound from the 
secretary’s desk across the room and back again. 
But the official, in spite of a nervous manner, 
handled the registrations efficiently, and after fif¬ 
teen minutes or so, during which he was annoyedly 
aware of the amused stares and whisperings of a 
couple of fourth class youngsters, Myron’s turn 
came. He gave his name and answered the ques¬ 
tions and then, when the secretary waved him 
on, There’s been a mistake made about my room, 
sir,” he said. ^‘1 engaged a single suite nearly 
two months ago and you wrote that I was to have 
Number 17 Sohmer. Now I find that you’ve put 
another fellow in with me, a fellow named Dobbin 
or Dobbins.” 

The secretary rescued the card that he had a 
moment before consigned to the index at his elbow 
and glanced quickly over it. ^‘Oh, yes,” he an¬ 
swered. ‘‘I recall it now. But I wrote to your 
father several days ago explaining that owing to 
the unexpectedly large number of students this 


18 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

year we’d be unable to give you a study to your¬ 
self. Possibly you left before the letter reached 
your home in—ah, yes,—Port Foster, Delaware. 
The school catalogue states distinctly that rooms 
are rented singly only when circumstances permit. 
The suite assigned you is a double one and we 
have had to till it. Very sorry, Mr. Foster, but 
perhaps you will find it an advantage to have a 
companion with you.” 

“But my father is paying for a single 
room-” 

“That has been arranged. One-half of the first 
term rental has been refunded. That is all, Mr. 
Foster?” 

“Why—why, I suppose so, but I don’t like it, 
sir. You agreed to give me a room to myself. 
If I had known how it was to be, I—I think I’d 
have gone somewhere else!” 

“Well, we’d be sorry to lose you, of course,” 
replied the secretary politely, “but unfortunately 
there is no way of giving you the accommodations 
you want. If you care to communicate with your 
father by wire we will hold your registration 
open until the morning. Now I shall have to ask 
you to let the next young gentleman-” 

“I guess you’d better do that,” replied Myron 
haughtily. “ I ’ll telegraph my father right away. ’ ’ 


19 


SO DOES JOE DOBBINS 

The secretary nodded, already busy with the 
next youth, and Myron made his way out. As he 
went down the worn stone steps he saw the two 
fourth class boys adorning the top rail of the 
fence that bordered Maple Street, and as he passed 
them he heard a snicker and a voice asking “Isn’t 
he a dur-reamV^ His first angry impulse was to 
turn back and scold, but second thoughts sent him 
on with an expression of contemptuous indiffer¬ 
ence. But the incident did not sweeten his dis¬ 
position any, and when he strode into Number 17 
again it needed only the sight that met him to set 
him off. Joe Dobbins, minus coat and vest, his 
suspenders hanging, was sitting in the room’s 
one easy chair with his stockinged feet on the 
table. Myron, closing the door behind him, glared 
for an instant. Then: 

“What do you think this is, Dobbin?” he de¬ 
manded angrily. “A—a stable?” 

Dobbins’ jaw dropped and he viewed Myron 
with ludicrous surprise. “How do you mean, a 
stable?” he asked. 

“I mean that if you’re going to say here with 
me tonight you’ve got to act like a—a gentleman! 
Sitting around with your suspenders down and 
your shoes off and your feet on the table-” 

“Oh!” said Joe, in vast relief. “That’s it! I 


20 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

thought maybe you were going to crack some joke 
about me being a horse, on account of my name. 
Don’t gentlemen put their feet on the table and 
let their galluses down?” 

^‘No, they don’t!” snapped Myron. ‘‘And as 
long as you’re rooming with me—which I hope 
won’t be long—I’ll ask you to cut out that ‘rough¬ 
neck’ stuff.” 

“Sure,” grinned Joe. “Anything to oblige, 
Foster.” He had already dropped his feet, and 
now he drew his suspenders over his shoulders 
again and slipped his feet back into his shoes. 
“Don’t guess I’ll ever get on to the ways of the 
best circles, Foster. I’m what you call an Un¬ 
spoiled Child of Nature. Well, what did the guy 
in the Office say? I’m betting I was right, 
kiddo.” 

“And don’t call me ‘kiddo’! You know my 
name. Use it.” 

“ Gosh-all-hemlock! ” murmured the other. 
‘ ‘ Say, you must have one of those fiery Southern 
temperaments I’ve read about. Now I know how 
the Civil War happened. I’ll bet you’re a direct 
descendant of General Lee!” 

“I’m not a Southerner,” answered Myron. 
“Just where do you think Delaware is?” 

“Well, I didn’t know you hailed from there,” 


so DOES JOE DOBBINS 21 

replied Joe untroubledly, ‘‘but I^d say Delaware 
was sort of Southern. Ain’t it?” 

“No more than Maine. Look here, Dobbin-’’ 

“Dobbins, please; with an S.” 

“Dobbins, then,” continued Myron impatiently. 
“That fellow over there says the school’s so full 
I can’t have a room to myself. They promised 
me I could two months ago, and we’ve paid for 
one. Well, I’m going to get out and go some¬ 
where where—where they know how to treat you. 
But—^but I can’t leave until tomorrow, so we’ll 
have to share this place tonight.” 

“That’ll be all right,” replied Joe affably. “I 
don’t mind.” 

Myron stared. “I didn’t suppose you did,” he 
said. 

“Meaning you do, eh?” Joe laughed good- 
naturedly. “That it?” 

“I’m not used to sharing my room with others,’’ 
answered Myron stiffly. “And I’m afraid you 
and I haven’t very much in common. So I guess 
we’ll get on better if—if we keep to ourselves.” 

“All right, kiddo—I mean Foster. Anything 
for a quiet life! Suppose we draw a line down 
the middle of the room, eh? Got a piece of chalk 
or something?” 

“I’ve taken the chiffonier nearest the window,” 


22 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


said Myron, disregarding the levity. ‘‘But I’ll 
have my things out in the morning, in case you 
prefer it to the other.” 

“Chiff—Oh, you mean the skinny bureau? 
Doesn’t make any difference to me which I have, 
ki—Foster. Say, you don’t really mean that 
you’re going to leave Parkinson just because you 
can’t have a room to yourself, do you?” 

“I do. I’m going out now to send a wire to my 
father.” 

“Gee, I wouldn’t do that, honest! Why, say, 
maybe I can find a room somewhere else. I don’t 
mind. This place is too elegant for me, anyway. 
Better let me have a talk with that guy over there 
before you do anything rash, Foster. I’m sorry 
I upset your arrangements like this, but it isn’t 
really my fault; now is it?” 

“I suppose not,” replied Myron grudgingly. 
“But I don’t believe you can do anything with 
him. Still, if you don’t mind trying. I’ll put off 
sending that telegram until you get back.” 

“Atta boy! Where’s my coat? Just you sit 
tight till I tell that guy where he gets off. Be 
right back, kiddo!” 

Joe Dobbins banged the door behind him and 
stamped away down the corridor. Pending his 
return, Myron found a piece of paper, drew his 


so DOES JOE DOBBINS 


23 


silver pencil from his pocket and frowningly set 
about the composition of that telegram. Possibly, 
he thought, it would be better to address it to his 
mother. Of the two, she was more likely to recog¬ 
nise the enormity of the otfence committed by the 
school. Still, she would see it in any case if he 
addressed it to the house and not to the office. 
When it was done, after several erasures, it read: 

‘‘Mr. John W. Foster, Warrenton Hall, Port 
Foster, Del. 

“Arrived safely, but find that I cannot have 
room to myself as was agreed. Must share suite 
with impossible fellow named Dobbins. Prefer 
some other school. Not too late if you wire to¬ 
night. Love. Myeon.” 

Putting Dobbins’ name into the message was, he 
considered, quite a masterly stroke. He imagined 
his mother’s expression when she read it I 


CHAPTER III 


THE ‘‘impossible FELLOW” 

Dobbins was gone the better part of half an hour 
and when he finally returned his expression 
showed that he had met with failure. “Still,” he 
explained hopefully, “Hoyt says he will give me 
the first vacancy that turns up. Sometimes fel¬ 
lows have to drop out after school begins, he says. 
Fail at exams or something. He says maybe he 
can put. me somewhere else within a week. Mind 
you, he doesn’t promise, but I made a pretty good 
yarn of it, and I guess he will do it if he possibly 
can.” Joe Dobbins chuckled reminiscently. “I 
told him that if he didn’t separate us I wouldn’t 
answer for what happened. Said we’d already 
had two fights and were spoiling for another. 
Said you’d pitched my things out the window and 
that I’d torn up all your yellow neckties. Maybe 
he didn’t believe all I told him: he’s a foxy little 
guy: but I guess I got him thinkin’, all right!” 

“You needn’t have told him all that nonsense,” 
demurred Myron. “He will think I’m a—a-” 


24 


THE ^‘IMPOSSIBLE FELLOW’’ 


25 


“Not for a minute! I told him you were a per¬ 
fect gentleman. Incompatibility of temperament 
is what I called it. He said why didn’t I leave oif 
the last two syllables. Well, that’s that, kiddo— 
I mean Foster. Better leave it lay until we see 
what happens, eh?” 

“Not at all. I shall send this telegram, Dob¬ 
bins. I don’t believe he has any idea of—of doing 
anything about it.” 

“We-ell, you’re the doctor, but—Say, where’ll 
you go if you leave this place?” 

“I don’t know yet. There are plenty of other 
schools around here, though. There’s one up the 
line a ways. I think it’s called Kenwood. Or 
there’s-” 

“Kenwood? Gee, boy, you don’t want to go 
there! Don’t you read the crime column in the 
papers? Why, Kenwood is filled with thugs and 
hoboes and the scum of the earth. A feller on the 
train told me so coming down here. Parkinson 
and Kenwood are rivals: get it? You don’t want 
to throw down this place and take up with the 
enemy, eh?” 

“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” 
Myron objected. “I’m not a Parkinson fellow. 
And I dare say that Kenwood is quite as good a 
school as Parkinson.” 


26 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

But Joe Dobbins shook his head. ‘‘That feller 
on the train talked mighty straight. I wouldnT 
like to think he was lying to me. He said that 
Kenwood was—was—now what was it he said? 
Oh, I got it! He said it was an ‘asylum for the 
mentally deficient.’ Sounds bad, eh?” 

“Rot!” grunted Myron. “I’m going over to 
the telegraph office.” 

“All right. If the Big Boss drops in I’ll tell 
him.” 

When Myron had gone Joe promptly removed 
coat and vest once more, dropped his suspenders 
about his hips and kicked off his shoes. “Might 
as well be comfortable when His Majesty’s away,” 
he sighed. “Gee, but he’s the limit, now ain’t he? 
I suppose I ought to have spanked him wdien he 
called me a stable—or whatever it was. But I 
dunno, he’s sort of a classy guy. Guess he isn’t 
so worse if you hack into him. Bark’s a little 
punk, but the wood’s all right underneath, likely. 
Don’t know if I could stand living with him 
regular, though. Not much fun in life if you 
can’t slip your shoes off when your feet hurt. 
Well, I guess I’ll get these satchels emptied. 
What was it he called those bureaus, now? Chiff 
—chiff—I’ll have to get him to tell me that again. 
One thing, Joey: living with Mr. Foster’ll teach 


THE ^‘IMPOSSIBLE FELLOW’’ 27 

you manners. Only I’d hate to think I’d ever 
get to wearing a lemon-yellow necktie!” 

Still feeling deeply wronged and out-of-sorts, 
Myron made his way back to Maple Street and set 
out toward the business part of W^arne. The 
breeze that had made the late September afternoon 
fairly comfortable had died away and the maples 
that lined the broad, pleasant thoroughfare 
drooped their leaves listlessly and the asphalt 
radiated heat. Myron wished that he had shed 
his waistcoat in the room. Students were still 
arriving, for he passed a number on their way 
to the school, bags in hands, and several taxis 
and tumble-down carriages went by with hilarious 
occupants oozing forth from doors and windows. 
One of the taxi drivers honked brazenly as his 
clattering vehicle passed Myron and the latter 
glanced up in time to receive a flatteringly friendly 
wave and shout from Eddie Moses. Myron 
frowned. “Folks here are a lot of savages,” he 
muttered. 

The telegram despatched, he made his way to a 
nearby drug store, seated himself on a stool and 
asked for a “peach-and-cream.” The freckle¬ 
faced, lanky youth behind the counter shook his 
head sadly. “Ain’t got no peach today. I can 
give you vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, rasp-” 



28 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 

‘‘I didnT mean syrup. HavenT you any fruit? 
I want a peach-and-cream.’’ 

“Don’t know what that is. Anyway, we ain’t 
got it. How about a chocolate sundae with puffed 
rice? Lots of the fellers call for them.” 

“No, thanks.’’ Myron descended from the stool 
and went out, more than ever assured of the un¬ 
desirability of Parkinson School as a place of 
sojourn. Think of a town where you couldn’t get 
a peach-and-cream! Why, even the smallest shops 
in Port Foster knew what a peach-and-cream was! 
He cast contemptuous looks upon the modest 
stores and places of business along Adams Street, 
and even the new Burton Block over on the corner 
of School Street, six stories high and glittering 
with broad glass windows, only drew a word of 
derision. “Suppose they call that thing a sky¬ 
scraper, ’ ’ he muttered. ‘ ‘ Huh! Putfed rice! ’ ’ 

Returning, he went through School Street to 
Washington Avenue. The south side of that 
shady thoroughfare, called Faculty Row, pre¬ 
sented a pleasing vista, in each direction, of neat 
lawns and venerable elms and glowing beds of 
flowers. Here and there a sprinkler tossed its 
spray into the sunlight. Myron had to acknowl¬ 
edge, albeit grudgingly, that Port Foster had 
nothing prettier to offer. Facing him, across the 


THE ‘‘IMPOSSIBLE FELLOW’’ 


29 


Avenue, since School Street ended there, was the 
main gate to the campus, and straight ahead a 
shady tunnel roofed with closely-set linden trees 
led the eyes to the gleaming fagade of Parkinson 
Hall, which, unlike the other school buildings, was 
of light-hued sandstone and was surmounted by 
an imposing dome. From the gate in front of 
him two other similar paths led diagonally away, 
and choosing the right-hand one Myron found 
grateful relief from the sun. He removed his hat 
and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with 
an immaculate handkerchief, and when he had 
finished returned the handkerchief to his breast 
pocket very carefully, allowing a corner—it hap¬ 
pened to be the corner bearing the embroidered 
monogram—to protrude carelessly. 

As he neared Sohmer he passed a group of four 
boys lying on the grass beneath the trees. Their 
conversation dwindled as he approached, ceased 
entirely as he came abreast and then went on again 
subduedly after he had gone by. His former irri¬ 
tation returned. WTiat was there about him to 
make fellows stare or giggle or smile? Even down 
town he had noticed it, and now, although he could 
not hear what was being said behind him, he felt 
that he was being discussed. He was conscious 
of being better dressed than any of the boys he 


30 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


had seen yet, there was nothing unusual in his 
looks so far as he knew and he believed that 
he carried himself and walked in an ordinary 
manner. He decided again that they were all a 
lot of savages or ‘‘small town’’ gykes. He was 
glad he was leaving them tomorrow. 

Back in Number 17, he found that Dobbins had 
gone out. In the bedroom that remarkable youth’s 
suit of rough red-brown material—it was much 
too heavy for summer wear and reminded Myron 
somewhat of a horse-blanket—that he had worn 
on his arrival lay carelessly tossed across a bed. 
It was the bed that Myron had chosen for himself, 
and he distastefully removed the clothes to the 
other one. As he did so he looked for the maker’s 
tag inside the collar and smiled ironically when he 
read “Bon Ton Brand.” 

“Ready-made,” he murmured. 

Dobbins had decorated the top of his chiffonier 
with two photographs and Myron examined them. 
One was a group picture of four persons; a woman 
rather thin and angular but with a kind and sweet 
face, a girl of some fourteen years, awkward and 
staring, and two younger girls, the littlest perhaps 
six. All were dressed in their finest and all, at 
least to Myron’s sophisticated sight, were dowdy. 
He concluded that the persons were Dobbins’ 


THE ^IMPOSSIBLE FELLOW’’ 


31 


mother and sisters. The second photograph was 
a more ambitious affair and showed a man of 
about forty years. He had a square, much seamed 
face from which two keen eyes looked straight at 
the beholder. A funny little patch of beard 
adorned the chin and above it a mde mouth was 
drawn severely down at the corners. In the 
photograph the man looked stern and hard and 
even cross, Myron thought, but there was some¬ 
thing nice about the countenance in spite of that, 
something suggesting that behind the weathered 
face were clean thoughts and kindliness. 

‘‘That’s the Spruce Gum King,” he reflected. 
“I guess if he hadn’t been scared at the camera 
he’d have looked rather a fine old chap, in spite 
of the little bunch of whiskers. He looks some¬ 
thing like Dobbins, too: same sort of eyes and— 
and same expression about the chin. Only 
Dobbins is more lazy and good-natured, I 
guess.” 

Later, his trunks came—there were two of them 
—and he had the expressman set them behind the 
door, one atop the other. There was no sense 
in opening them, for his kit-bag provided all he 
needed for the night. By that time it was nearing 
the supper hour and there was a rustling in the 
leaves of the lindens and the air was cooler. He 


32 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

told himself that whether Dobbins ever returned 
was nothing to him, and yet he found himself 
listening for the other heavy tread in the cor¬ 
ridor. He wondered where Dobbins had gone, and 
rather resented his absence. The magazine which 
he had been reading beside the open window 
ceased to hold his attention and he glanced at his 
watch. A quarter to six. The supper hour was 
six o’clock. He had looked that up in his copy of 
the school catalogue. And you ate in Alumni 
Hall, which, as the plan of the school showed, was 
the building on the extreme left of the line. Fi¬ 
nally Myron stripped to his waist and had a good 
splurge with soap and water. Some kindly soul 
had supplied a towel and it wasn’t until he was 
through using it that he saw the inscription ‘‘Dob¬ 
bins” on one end. 

“Well, how was I to know?” he grumbled. 
“Maybe I’d better dig into the trunk and get out 
a few of my own.” 

But after supper would do, and just now he was 
feeling decidedly hungry, and washing up had 
refreshed him and made life look more pleasant. 
He hoped there would be something fit to eat, but 
he didn’t expect it. He was getting back into his 
clothes when the approach of his temporary room¬ 
mate was announced from some distance down the 


THE ‘IMPOSSIBLE FELLOW’’ 


33 


hall by the clump-clump of heavy shoes. Dobbins 
was peculiarly ungentle with doors. He flung 
them open and didn’t care what happened to them 
afterwards. In the present case the door crashed 
back against the trunks behind it with a most 
annoying hang, but Dobbins didn’t appear to have 
heard it. He was strangely attired, was Dob¬ 
bins, and Myron, one arm in his shirt, gazed in 
astonishment and for a moment forgot to go on 
with his dressing. 

A faded yellowish-brown jersey with half of the 
left sleeve missing and the other torn and mended 
—and torn and not mended—was surmounted by 
a canvas football jacket held together down the 
front with a black shoe-lace and a piece of twine. 
The jacket was so old and stained that Myron 
could easily believe it an heirloom, something 
handed down through generations of football-play¬ 
ing Dobbinses! A pair of rather new khaki pants, 
woollen stockings of brown twice ringed with light 
blue that well matched the jersey in condition, 
and scuffed and scarred football shoes completed 
the costume. Dobbins’ hair was every which way 
and there w^as more or less dirt on his broad coun¬ 
tenance through which the perspiration had flowed 
in little rivulets with interesting results. 

“Hello, kiddo!” Dobbins greeted jovially. 


34 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


“How’s the grouch coming on! Say, they’ve got 
a swell gridiron here; two or three of ’em, in fact. 
Wonderful turf. It’s a pleasure to fall on it, hon¬ 
est! Hear from your old man yet?” 

“Hardly,” replied Myron drily. “What have 
you been doing?” 

“Me? Sweating, son, mostly. Practising foot¬ 
ball some, too.” 

‘‘Oh! I didn’t know you played.” 

“Me? That guy Camp and I wrote the rules! 
Looks like we had enough fellers to build forty 
teams. Must have been ’most a thousand of ’em 
over there. Every time I turned around I trod on 
some one. You didn’t go over, eh?” 

“No, I—I ^vas busy. Besides, I didn’t know 
they were holding practice today. I supposed 
they’d start tomorrow.” 

“Been at it three days already, I hear. Got a 
coach here that looks like he knew his business, 
Foster. Ever try football?” 

“I’ve played some,” answered Myron, with a 
smile that seemed to combine patience and pity.’ 
“I expect to go out for it when I get settled 
somewhere.” 

“Still thinking of leaving, are you? You’re 
going to lose a mighty good school, son. I sure 
do like this place. Well, I’ve got a hunger like a 



THE ^ IMPOSSIBLE FELLOM"’’ 35 

river-boss. Guess I’ll get back to store clothes 
and find the trough. You going now!” 

“Yes, I think so.” 

“Well, tell ’em to save a little of everything 
for me.” Dobbins’ voice came muffled from above 
the basin in the bedroom, and Myron, rememberr 
ing the towel, hurried out. 


CHAPTER IV 


MYEON DECIDES TO STAY 

At dining hall it appeared that places had not 
yet been assigned and Myron was conducted to 
a seat between a large, stout youth who seemed 
afflicted with asthma and a shy, red-cheeked boy 
who promptly upset his glass of milk when Myron 
asked for the biscuits. Rather to his surprise, 
the food was excellent and plentiful. There were 
many tables, each seating ten boys, and most of 
them were filled when Myron reached the hall. 
There was a good deal of noise, as was natural 
when nearly four hundred normally healthy boys 
were being fed. At Myron ^s table no one ap¬ 
peared to be acquainted with any one else and in 
consequence there was little conversation. The 
asthmatic youth wheezily ventured a remark, but 
Myron’s reply was not encouraging and the youth 
gave all his attention again to dropping bits of 
biscuit in his stewed pears and salvaging them 
noisily. Myron was glad when the stout chap, 
finding nothing else to devour, sighed heavily and 
36 


MYRON DECIDES TO STAY 


37 


left the table. His place was filled again, however, 
a moment later by a clean-cut fellow of about 
nineteen years, a good-looking, neatly-dressed boy 
of what Myron mentally called his own sort. Con¬ 
versation with him seemed natural and desirable, 
and Myron broke the ice by offering the biscuits. 
The newcomer accepted one, said “Thanks’’ 
politely and cast a brief and appraising glance 
over his neighbour. 

“They’re not bad,” said Myron. 

“No, they never are,” answered the other. “I 
wonder if you can reach the butter.” 

Myron could and did. “Not up to the biscuits,” 
he offered. 

“No? What seems to be wrong with it?” 

“Too salty for me.” 

• “I see. Well, you’d naturally like it fresh.” 

Myron shot a covert and suspicious glance at 
the other. It seemed to him that there had been 
a faint emphasis on the word “fresh.” Perhaps 
he had only imagined it, though, for his neigh¬ 
bour’s expression was quite guileless. He was 
leisurely buttering a portion of the biscuit and 
appeared to have forgotten Myron’s existence. 
Myron felt faintly uncomfortable and applied him¬ 
self silently to his food. Across the board an¬ 
other chair was pushed back and, almost before its 


38 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


occupant was out of it, again taken. Myron ob¬ 
served rather annoyedly that the new occupant of 
the place was Dobbins. He nodded across and 
dropped his eyes to his plate. He hoped that Dob¬ 
bins wouldn’t try to converse. Somehow, he 
didn’t want the chap at his right to think him a 
friend of Dobbins’. But Dobbins, after an ap¬ 
proving look about the table, did just what Myron 
had hoped he wouldn’t do. 

“How you making out, Foster?” he inquired. 
“Grub meeting your approval?” 

“Yes, thanks,” responded Myron coldly. 

“That’s good. I see you—Hello!” 

“Hello,” said the boy at Myron’s right atfably. 
“How do you feel now?” 

“Great! It sure was hot, though. Bet you I 
dropped five pounds this afternoon. But I’ll get 
it back right now if they’ll give me half a chance!” 
Dobbins chuckled and Myron’s neighbour smiled 
responsively. Myron wmndered how Dobbins and 
this chap beside him happened to be so chummy. 
He wondered still more when, a minute later, his 
neighbour changed his seat for one just vacated 
beside Dobbins, and entered into an animated con¬ 
versation with him. Myron couldn’t catch more 
than an occasional word above the noise of talk¬ 
ing and clattering dishes, but he knew that the 


MYRON DECIDES TO STAY 


39 


subject of their discourse was football. He was 
glad when he had finished his supper and could 
leave the table. 

There was a reception to the new students that 
evening at the PrincipaPs residence, but Myron 
didn’t go. What was the use, when by noon to¬ 
morrow he would have shaken the dust of Warne 
from his shoes and departed for a school where 
fellows of his station and worth were understood 
and appreciated? Joe Dobbins, however, attended 
and didn’t get back to the room in Sohmer until 
nearly ten o’clock, by which time Myron had ex¬ 
hausted all the reading matter he could find and, 
pyjama-clad, was sitting at a window and moodily 
looking out into the dimly lighted yard. Joe en¬ 
tered in his usual crash-bang manner and breezily 
skimmed his hat toward the table. It missed the 
table and went to the floor, where, so far as its 
owner was concerned, it was allowed to stay. 
Myron reflected that it wasn’t hard to account for 
the battered condition of that hat. 

‘‘Heard from your old man yet?” asked Joe, 
dropping into a chair and stretching his long legs 
across the floor. 

“Meaning my father?” asked Myron stiffly. 

“Yep. Has he telegraphed?” 

“No, unless he’s sent a night message. He 


40 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


might. Sometimes he doesn’t get back from the 
yard until rather late.” 

^‘Yardf What sort of yard?” 

‘^Shipyard. He builds boats.” 

^^Oh, boatyard, you mean. I know a fellow 
in Portland has a boatyard. Makes some cracka¬ 
jack sloops.” 

“We build ships,” corrected Myron patiently. 
“Battleships, passenger ships, cargo carriers and 
such. Some of them are whopping big ones: six¬ 
teen and eighteen thousand tons.” 

“Gosh! I’d like to see that place. I suppose 
you’ll be going to work with him when you get 
through here.” 

“Not exactly. I shall go through college first, 
of course.” 

“Oh! Well, say, honest injun, Foster, do you 
think a college course cuts any ice with a fellow? 
The old man says I can go to a college—if I can 
get in,—but I don’t know. I wouldn’t get through 
until I was twenty-two or twenty-three, and seems 
to me that’s wasting a lot of time. What do you 
think?” 

“Depends, I suppose, on—on the individual 
case. If you feel that you want to get to work 
in the chewing-gum factory and can’t afford to 
go through college-” 



MYRON DECIDES TO STAY 41 

Where do you get that chewiug-gum factory 
stuff r’ asked Joe. 

‘^Why, I thought you said your father made 
spruce gum.^’ 

‘‘No, the Lord makes it. The old man gathers 
it and sells it. Spruce gum is the resin of spruce 
trees, kiddo.^’ 

“Oh,’’ said Myron vaguely. “Well, I dare say 
he will need you to help him gather it. In your 
case, Dobbins, going through college might be 
wasting time.” 

Joe laughed. 

“What’s the joke?” asked the other suspi¬ 
ciously. 

“Well, I was having what you call a mind pic¬ 
ture of the old man and me picking that gum. 
Know how many tons of the stutf he handles in a 
year? Nearly a hundred and thirty: about two 
hundred and fifty thousand pounds! He has over 
a hundred pickers employed, and buys a lot from 
fellows who pick on their own hook.” 

“Oh!” said Myron. ‘‘ Well, how was I to know? 
You distinctly said the Lord made it and your 
father gathered it, didn’t you?” 

“That’s right; my error, kiddo-” 

“Kindly cut out that-” 

“Sorry; I forgot. Well, I don’t have to worry 


42 


PULL-BACK FOSTER 


about college just yet, do I? We’ll see first if 
I can stick here long enough to get my time! I 
wouldn’t mind playing football on a good college 
team, though: Harvard or Yale or Dartmouth or 
one of those big ’uns.” 

‘‘Probably not,” replied Myron drily. “No¬ 
body would. I wouldn’t myself.” Somehow he 
managed to convey the impression that in his case 
such a thing was not only possible but probable, 
but that for Joe to set his hopes so high was 
absurd. Joe’s greenish-grey eyes flickered once, 
but he made no comment. Instead: 

“You played much?” he asked. 

“Quite a bit,” answered the other carelessly. 
“I captained the Port Foster High team last 
fall.” 

“Must have then! Where’d you play?” 

“Position? Left half. End the year before 
that. What do you play?” 

“Me? Oh, most anything in the line. I’m not 
fussy. Played tackle most of last year. Like to 
play guard better, though. Football’s a great 
game, isn’t it?” 

“Not bad,” acknowledged Myron. “By the 
way, who was the fellow you were so thick with at 
supper tonight?” 

“Him? Name’s Keith or something. Played 


MYRON DECIDES TO STAY 43 

ou last year’s team and was coaching the linemen 
today. Nice gny. Bet he can play, too.” 

“Looked rather light to me,” commented 
Myron. 

“Think so? Maybe. Anyway, he knows how to 
drill the line, or I^m a Dutchman. What time is 
it? ^J^m getting sleepy. You weren’t over at the 
party, were you?” 

“No, it didn’t interest me. As I’m not going to 
stay, why be bored by that sort of thing?” 

“Hm,” said Joe. 

“Wliat’s ‘Hm’ mean?” 

“Nothing. Just thinking. Say, what’s your 
objection to this place, Foster? If it’s just me, 
why, say. I’ll get out gladly. Fellow I met tonight 
told me he has a dandy room in the village. I’m 
not fussy about living on the campus.” 

“Oh, it isn’t just that,” said Myron. “I don’t 
like the—the atmosphere here.” 

“Well, it is sort of close tonight, but I guess it 
would be anywhere in this part of the country. 
September’s likely to-” 

“I wasn’t referring to the air,” corrected the 
other loftily. “I used the word in its other 
sense.” 

“Didn’t know it had another sense,” said Joe 
cheerfully. “All right. But I was just thinking 


44 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


that if you had to have this place to yourself I 
could beat it, and no hard feelings.’^ 

‘^They^d stick some one else in here, I guess. 
Besides, I wouldnT want to put you out. After 
all, youVe got as much right here as I have, I 
suppose.” That statement had a rather dubious 
sound, however, and again Joe^s eyes flickered 
and the very ghost of a smile hovered for an in¬ 
stant about the corners of his wide mouth. 

‘^Yeah, but the next chap might be more your 
style, Foster. I’m sort of rough-and-ready, I 
guess. Don’t run much to etiquette and wouldn’t 
know what to do in one of those silk collars you 
wear. I should think they’d make your neck 
awfully warm.” And Joe ran a finger around 
inside his own very low linen collar apprehen¬ 
sively. 

‘‘I hope I haven’t said anything to make you 
think that I—that you-” 

“Oh, no, you haven’t said anything: at least, 
not much: but I can see that I’d be persona non 
compos, or whatever the word is, around these 
diggings. You think it over and let me know. I 
guess that Hoyt guy wouldn’t mind if I got a 
room outside somewhere. Well, here’s where I hit 
the hay.” 

“There’s no sense in my thinking it over,” 


MYRON DECIDES TO STAY 45 

answered Myron a bit querulously, ‘‘as I tell you 
I’m not going to stay here.” 

“Don’t think there’s any doubt about it, ehT’ 

“Certainly not!” 

“All right. I was only thinking that if you did 
stay-” 

“I haven’t the least intention of staying. I 
wish you’d get that fixed in your mind, Dobbins.” 

“Sur-e! I’ll go to sleep and dream about it!” 

If Myron dreamed of anything he had no recol¬ 
lection of having done so in the morning. He 
awoke in a far more cheerful frame of mind to 
find a cool and fragrant breeze flapping the cur¬ 
tain and a patch of golden sunlight lying across 
his bed. He had slept like a log. A glance at the 
neighbouring bed showed that Joe Dobbins was 
up, although Myron’s watch proved the time to 
be still short of seven-thirty. From across the 
campus a bell was ringing loudly. It was doubt¬ 
less that sound that had awakened him. Usually 
he turned over and had a nap before getting up, 
but this morning, although he buried his head in 
the pillow again, sleep didn’t return to him. Per¬ 
haps it was just as well, he reflected, for that tele¬ 
gram from his father ought to be along soon, and 
he would probably have a busy morning getting 
away. So far he had not considered what he 


46 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


would do in case they couldn’t take him at Ken¬ 
wood. He rather hoped they could, though. It 
would be a big satisfaction, and an amusing one, 
too, to play on the Kenwood eleven and show 
these unappreciative fellows at Parkinson what 
they had missed! Myron could play football and 
knew it, and knew as well that in losing his services 
Parkinson was losing something worth while. It 
would be fun to say carelessly to some Parkinson 
fellow after he had aided Kenwood to beat her 
rival: “Yes, I did think of going to your school: 
in fact, I actually spent a night there: but they 
treated me rather rotten and I got out. They 
promised me a room to myself, you know, and then 
tried to make me go in with another chap. It was 
rather coarse work, and I told them so before I 
left.” Whereupon the Parkinson boy would tell 
it around and there’d be regrets galore. 

That was a pleasing dream, and under the excit¬ 
ing influence of it Myron jumped out of bed and 
sought a bath. While he was shivering in the icy 
water he recalled the fact that there was such a 
thing as chapel or morning prayers or something, 
and he wondered if he was under obligations to 
attend that ceremony. He decided the question in 
the negative and, returning to his room, dressed 
leisurely, selecting a grey tie with a yellow figure 


47 


MYRON DECIDES TO STAY 

and a yellow handkerchief with a narrow grey 
border. The bell had long since ceased its clamour 
and peace had settled over the yard. Dressed, 
he went downstairs. In the corridor, close by th/ 
entrance, was a notice board and a letter rack. 
He didnT bother to peruse the few notices nor 
would he have paid any attention to the rack had 
his fleeting glance not been arrested by the sight 
of a butf envelope. He stopped and looked more 
closely. It was a telegram and, yes, it was ad¬ 
dressed to Myron W. Foster, Parkinson School, 
Warne, Mass. In blue pencil was “S 17.’’ 

At last! He took it to the entrance and paused 
on the top step in the sunlight and tore off an end 
of the envelope very carefully. Then he withdrew 
the folded sheet of buff paper and with a satisfied 
smile began to read it. But the smile vanished 
in the next instant and, although he read the 
message through a second and even a third time, 
he could not make the sense of it correspond with 
his expectation. 

‘‘Your mother and I very sorry about your 
room letter from school arrived after your de¬ 
parture explaining satisfactorily Think you had 
better stay there however for the present and 
arrange for single suite when same can be had 
Love from us both Father.” 


CHAPTER V 


ON THE GRIDIRON 

Myron’s connection with Parkinson School began 
inauspiciously. After an eleventh-hour effort to 
get his studies scheduled, and the discovery that 
he was required to take two courses he didn’t 
want to take and to omit one that he did, a sum¬ 
mons came to him to visit the Office. There Mr. 
Morgan, assistant to the Principal, reminded him 
that attendance at chapel was compulsory and then 
announced that there appeared to be some doubt 
that he could enter the second class owing to the 
fact that his Latin was not up to the requirements. 
That was disheartening, for Myron had coached 
on Latin during the summer and been pronounced 
tit for the third-year class at Parkinson or any 
other preparatory school. Yesterday he would 
have received the announcement with unconcern, 
but today, since the arrival of that disappointing 
telegram, he found cause in it for real alarm. At 
well past seventeen one doesn’t like to be put in 
with fellows who average sixteen, Myron held. 
As a matter of fact, the third class contained 


48 


ON THE GRIDIRON 


49 


more students of liis age than it did of fellows 
younger, and he would not have found himself out 
of place there. But he didn’t know that, and as 
a result he pleaded very hard to be allowed to 
enter the class above. In the end, after much hesi¬ 
tation, and with no very good grace, Mr. Morgan 
consented. 

“But you’ll have to do some hard work, Foster, 
if you’re to stay there. Unless you’re willing to, 
I’d advise you to go into the third.’’ 

“I’ll work, sir. Maybe I could coach in Latin.” 

“Yes, you could do that. If you like, I’ll give 
you the address of a fellow who does a good deal 
of tutoring and gets excellent results.” He wrote 
the address on a slip and Myron tucked it in his 
pocket. ‘ ‘ Well, that’s all, I think. I hope you will 
get on nicel}^, Foster. Let me see, your adviser 
is-” 

“Mr. Cooper, sir.” 

“Good. Don’t hesitate to consult him. He’s a 
fine man and you’ll like him immensely, I think. 
Good morning.” 

Myron had a spare hour after dinner and spent 
it unpacking. W^hen some of his things had been 
distributed around the study the place really 
looked fairly homelike and attractive, and he be¬ 
gan to look forward to a year at Parkinson with 



50 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


more equanimity. If only lie wasn’t handicapped 
with his Latin, he thought, things wouldn’t be so 
bad. With Dobbins out of the way and the study 
and bedroom to himself, he guessed he could get 
along fairly comfortably. There was a half-hour 
of physics at three, and after that he was through 
for the day. He returned to Sohmer and changed 
into his football togs, which, unlike the nondescript 
garments worn by Joe Dobbins, were fairly new 
and of the best materials. When he had examined 
himself critically and appreciatively in the glass 
he sauntered downstairs, skirted the end of the 
gymnasium building and had his first real look 
at the playfield. 

Nearly twelve acres of still green turf stretched 
before him, his view uninterrupted save by the 
grandstand directly before him. To his left were 
the tennis courts, both clay and grass, and about 
them white-clad figures darted. Nearer at hand, 
the blue-grey running track inclosed the first team 
gridiron. Beyond that two more pairs of goal¬ 
posts met his sight, and then the baseball 
diamonds filled the balance of the field. Track and 
gridirons and diamonds were already occupied, 
and the nearer grandstand held a handful of boys 
who had gathered in the warm sunlight to watch 
the activities. Football practice was called for 


51 


ON THE GKIDIKON 

three-thirty, and it was nearly four when Myron 
reached the field. He was in no hurry to join the 
panting and perspiring squads that trotted around 
o\^er the turf, and so he perched himself on one 
of the lower seats of the stand and looked the 
situation over. 

Not far away the manager and assistant mana¬ 
ger, both earnest-looking youths, talked to a stout 
man in a faded brown sweater who later turned 
out to be the trainer, Billy Goode. Myron won¬ 
dered where the coach might be, but he couldn’t 
find any one who much resembled his idea of what 
that gentleman should look like. However, with 
more than a hundred fellows at work out there it 
was easy enough to overlook him. A squad of 
advanced players trotted near, going through 
elementary signal work. Rather to Myron’s sur¬ 
prise, Joe Dobbins w’as amongst them, sand¬ 
wiched between two capable-looking youths in togs 
quite as disreputable as his. Joe was acting as 
right guard, it seemed. Myron’s opinion of Joe 
as a football player went up a peg, for it was fairly 
evident that this squad was made up of last-year 
fellows and probably contained the nucleus of 
what in a few days would be known as the first 
squad. About this time Myron became aware that 
some of the fellows about him on the grandstand 


52 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


were viewing him curiously. Doubtless they were 
wondering why, being in playing togs, he didn’t 
get down there and go to work. Of course it was 
none of their business, but maybe it was time he 
found the coach and reported. 

He made inquiry of the manager, a slim, very 
alert youth armed with a formidable notebook 
in which he was making entries when Myron ap¬ 
proached. ^‘Mr. Driscoll? He’s around here 
somewhere.” The manager, whose name was 
Farnsworth, looked frowningly about the field, 
“Yes, there he is dow there, the man with the 
blue sweater. Are you just reporting for prac¬ 
tice?” 

“Yes,” answered Myron. “I wasn’t out yester¬ 
day, ’ ’ 

“What’s the name?” asked Farnsworth briskly. 

“Foster.” 

“Foster?” The manager fluttered the leaves 
of the big notebook until he found the F’s. Then: 
“W^hat are the initials, Foster?” 

“M. W.” 

“Class?” 

“Third.” 

“Ever played before?” 

“Naturally.” Farnsworth shot a quick glance. 

“Where?” he asked. 


ON THE GRIDIRON 53 

‘Tort Foster High School Team, Port Foster, 
Delaware. I played two years there/^ 

“Line or backfieldF’ 

“Backfield: before that at end.” 

“Had your physical exam yet?” 

“No, I didn’t know about it. Where do I take 
it?” 

‘ ‘ See Mr. Tasser, in the gym. Any time between 
ten and twelve and four and six. Better do it 
today. Rules are rather strict, Foster. All right. 
Report to Cummins. He’s handling the new men. 
You’ll find him down there by the east goal: ask 
any one.” 

“I though I’d tell the coach-” 

“Not necessary. Cummins’ll look after you.” 

Myron shrugged mentally and turned his steps 
toward the indicated location. “One of those 
smart Alecks,” he thought. “Thinks he’s the 
whole push. All right, it’s not my business to 
tell him his. If they want me to waste my time 
with the beginners it’s their funeral.” 

Cummins wasn’t difficult to find. Myron heard 
his bark long before he reached him. Nearly 
thirty youths, most of them youngsters of fourteen 
and fifteen, although here and there an older boy 
was to be noticed, were learning to handle the 
ball. Cummins appeared to be about eighteen, a 


54 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


heavily-built chap with a shock of reddish-brown 
hair and a round face liberally spattered with 
freckles. Just now the face was scowling feroci¬ 
ously and Cummins was sneering stridently at his 
charges. Myron took an instant dislike to Mr. 
Charles Cummins, and, or so it appeared, Mr. 
Charles Cummins took an equal dislike to 
Myron. 

''Well, well, well, WELL!!’’ barked Cummins 
as Myron came up. "What do you fellows think 
this is? A lawn party or a sewing circle or what? 
Maybe you’re waiting for the ice-cream to be 
served? Listen just one minute, will you? Stop 
that hall, you long-legged fellow! Now then, let’s 
understand each other. This is football practice. 
Get that? The idea is to learn to hold that ball 
without having it get away from you, and to catch 
it and to pass it. We aren’t doing aesthetic danc¬ 
ing or—or acting in a pageant. This is work, W- 
0-R-K, work! Any of you who are out here just 
to get the air or to tan your necks can quit right 
now. I’m here to show you hopeless ninnies how 
to handle a football, and I propose to do it if it 
takes from now to Christmas, and the sooner you 
put your minds on what you’re doing and try 
a little, the sooner you’ll get through. Now start 
that ball around again and, for the love of limes, 


ON THE GRIDIRON 


55 


remember some of the things I’ve told you. AYhen 
you catch it, grab it with both hands and hug it. 
It isn’t an egg. It won’t break. That’s the idea, 
Judson, or whatever your name is. Go ahead, 
go ahead! Get some ginger into it! Pass it 
along! Don’t go to sleep. I said hug it, not 
fondle it, Whittier! When you—Hello, more 
trouble?” 

“The manager fellow told me to report to you,” 
said Myron as Cummins turned a baleful gaze on 
him. 

“Oh, the ^manager fellow’ told you that, did he? 
What does the ‘coach fellow’ say?” 

“I haven’t seen the coach yet,” answered Myron 
coldly. 

“Haven’t you? Why, say, maybe you won’t 
like him! Don’t you think you ought to look him 
over first ? It would be fierce if you didn ’t happen 
to approve of him. What’s your name?” 

“Foster.” 

“All right, Foster, you push right in there and 
show me how you catch a football. Something 
tells me that my troubles are all over now that 
you’ve joined this aggregation of stars!” 

Myron suppressed the angry retort that sprang 
to his lips and took his place in the big circle. 
“Bounder!” he muttered as he did so. The boy 


56 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


next to him on the left heard and snickered, and 
Cummins guessed the reason. Unseen of Myron, 
he grinned. ‘‘When you can get ’em mad,” he 
said to himself, “there’s hope for ’em.” 

When the ball was passed to Myron he caught it 
deftly, bending his body over it, and then promptly 
sped it on to the youth who had snickered. The 
latter was unaccustomed to such speed and was 
not ready, and the ball bounded away. He lum¬ 
bered after it and scooped it up, returning to his 
place with an accusing scowl for Myron. 

“Think you’re smart, I suppose,” he grumbled. 

“Sorry,” said Myron, “but you ought to be 
ready for it.” 

“Is that so? Well-” 

“Cut out that talking!” barked Cummins. 
“Speed it up, fellows!” 

There was ten minutes more of the dreary work, 
during which Myron mechanically received the 
pigskin and sent it on to the next in the circle 
without a hitch. If he expected to win commenda¬ 
tion from Cummins, however, he was disappointed. 
Cummins ^was eloquent with criticism, but never 
once did he utter a word of approval. At last: 

“That’ll do for that, fellows,” he called. “You 
may rest a minute. Maybe some of you’ll get 
your strength back.” He approached Myron with 


ON THE GEIDIRON 


57 


an accusing scowl. ‘^Wliat are you doing in this 
bunch!he demanded. ‘‘You don't belong 
here.'' 

“I was sent here," replied Myron warmly. 

“Didn't you have sense enough to tell Farns¬ 
worth you weren't a greenie! Think I've got 
nothing to do but waste my time!" 

“Well, you're not the only one who's doing it, 
are you! What about my time!" 

“That’s your affair. I didn't want you, be¬ 
lieve me! You ought to have told him you knew 
something about a football. He's no mind-reader, 
you know." 

“I told him I'd played two years on a high 
school team-" 

“Oh! That explains it. You high school ginks 
usually don't know enough football to make the 
first year team. Guess Farnsworth thought you 
were like the run of 'em." 

“Maybe," replied Myron indifferently, “but 
it's not my business to teach you fellows how to 
run your affairs." 

“Hard luck for us, isn't it! Well, say, Mr. 'Igh 
and 'Aughty, you trek across there and tell Farns¬ 
worth I say you're graduated from my bunch. 
Get it! Tell him to put you somewhere else, and 
tell him I don't care where it is!" 


58 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘^Thanks/’ returned Myron with deep sarcasm. 
“I’m horribly sorry to leave you, though. It’s a 
real pleasure working under such a gentlemanly 
instructor, Mr. Cummins.” 

Cummins watched him for a long moment with 
his mouth open. “Well, what do you know about 
that?” he murmured at last. “The cheeky beg¬ 
gar!” Then he grinned again and, surprising 
amused and delighted expressions on the coun¬ 
tenances of those of his squad who had been near 
enough to overhear the conversation, quickly 
changed the grin for a scowl. “All right now!” 
he barked. “Line up along there. Wlio’s got the 
ball? Let’s see what you pin-heads know about 
starting.” 

Myron’s message to Farnsworth resulted in his 
finishing the practice with a group of fellows 
whose education had progressed beyond the rudi¬ 
mentary stage. Toward the last of the period he 
was put to catching punts with a half-dozen other 
backfield candidates and performed to his own 
satisfaction at least. There was no scrimmage 
today, nor was there any for several days follow¬ 
ing, and at five o’clock Coach Driscoll sent them 
otf to the showers. Later Myron went upstairs 
and found the physical director and underwent 
his examination, obtaining a chart filled with per- 


ON THE GRIDIRON 


59 


plexing lines and puzzling figures and official 
permission to engage in “any form of athletics 
approved by the Committee.’^ After which he 
returned rather wearily to Number 17 Sohmer and 
Joe Dobbins. 


CHAPTER VI 


‘‘a. t. merriman’’ 

The next forenoon Myron set off in a spare hour 
to find the tutor whose address Mr. Morgan had 
given him. If he had cherished the notion of pos¬ 
sibly getting along without coaching in Latin his 
experiences that morning had banished it. Mr. 
Addicks, or Old Addie, as he was called, was a 
likable sort and popular with the students, but 
he was capable of a gentle sarcasm that was hor¬ 
ribly effective with any one whose skin was less 
thick than that of a rhinoceros, and an hour or so 
ago he had caused Myron to heartily wish him¬ 
self small enough to creep into a floor crack and 
pull some dust over him! No use talking, Myron 
told himself as he set forth for Mill Street, he’d 
have to find this chap and get right to work. He 
wouldn’t face that horrible Addicks again until 
he had put in a solid week of being tutored. It 
would get him in bad at the Office, maybe, if the 
instructor called on him very often in that week, 
for he would just say ‘‘Not prepared,” but any- 
60 


T. MERRIMAN’^ 61 

thing was to be preferred to standing up there 
like a jay and letting Addicks make fun of him! 

When he reached the head of School Street he 
pulled the slip of paper again from his pocket and 
made sure of the address. ‘‘A. T. Merriman, 109 
Mill Street/’ was what was written there. He 
asked his way at the next corner and was directed 
across the railroad. ^^Mill Street runs at right 
angles to the track,” said the citizen who was 
directing him. ‘^You’ll see a granite building 
after you pass the crossing. That’s Whitwell’s 
Mill. The street you want runs along the farther 
side of it. ’ ’ Myron thanked him and went on down 
School Street. The obliging citizen gazed after 
him in mingled surprise and admiration. 

‘‘Well, he’s certainly a dressy boy,” he mur¬ 
mured. “Must be Old John W. Croesus’s son!” 

Mill Street wasn’t far and 109 was soon found, 
but the character of the district wasn’t at all to 
Myron’s liking. Ragged and dirty children over¬ 
flowed the sidewalks and played in the cobbled 
roadway, slatternly women gossiped from open 
windows, dejected-looking men lounged at the 
corners, stray cats rummaged the gutters. The 
houses, frame structures whose dingy clapboards 
were flush with the street, had apparently seen far 
better days. Now dust and grime lay thick on 


62 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

them and many a window was wanting a pane of 
glass. The prospect of penetrating to such a 
place every day was revolting, and, having found 
the numerals ‘ ‘ 109 ’ ’ above a sagging porch, Myron 
was strongly inclined to turn back. But he didn’t, 
and a tinkle that followed his pull at the rusty 
knob beside the door brought a stout and frowsy 
woman who wiped her hands on her apron as she 
pulled the portal open. 

‘‘Mr. Merriman?” inquired Myron. 

“I don’t know is he in, sir. One flight up and 
you’ll see his name on the door. If you come 
again, sir, just you step right in. The door ain’t 
never locked in the daytime.” 

Myron mounted a creaky stairway guiltless of 
carpet and found himself in a narrow hall from 
which four doors opened. In spite of dinginess 
and want of repairs, the interior of 109 was, he 
had to acknowledge, astonishingly clean. One of 
the doors did present a card to the inquiring gaze, 
but in the gloom its inscription was not decipher¬ 
able and so Myron chanced it and knocked. A 
voice answered from beyond the portal and nearly 
simultaneously a dog barked sharply. Myron 
entered. 

The room was large and well lighted from two 
sides. It was also particularly devoid of fumi- 


T. MERRIMAN’’ 


63 


ture, or so it looked to the visitor. A large deal 
table strewn with papers and piled with books 
stood near the centre of the apartment where the 
cross light from the two pairs of windows fell 
on it. The floor was carpetless, but two scraps 
of straw matting saved it from utter bareness. 
There was a bench under the windows on one side 
and a flattened cushion and two faded pillows 
adorned it. What seemed to Myron the narrow¬ 
est bed in the whole wide world, an unlovely thing 
of black iron rails, was pushed into a corner, and 
beside it was a box from which overflowed a grey 
blanket. Three chairs, one a decrepit armchair 
from whose leather covering the horsehair stuffing 
protruded in many places, stood about. There 
was also a bureau and a washstand. On the end 
of the former stood a small gas-stove and various 
pans and cooking utensils. TSooks, mostly sober¬ 
sided, dry-looking volumes, lay everywhere, on 
table, bureau, window-seat, chair and even on the 
floor. Between the several articles of furniture 
lay broad and arid expanses of unpainted flooring. 

At first glance the room appeared to be in¬ 
habited only by a tall, thin but prepossessing youth 
of perhaps twenty years and a Scottish terrier 
whose age was a matter for conjecture since her 
countenance was fairly well hidden by sandy hair. 


64 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


The youth was seated at the deal table and the 
terrier was halfway between box and door, growl¬ 
ing inquiringly at the intruder. At Myron’s entry 
Merriman tilted back in his chair, thrust his hands 
into his trousers pockets and said ‘‘Good morn¬ 
ing” in a deep, pleasant voice. Then he added 
mildly: ‘ ‘ Shut up, Tess, or I ’ll murder you. ’ ’ The 
terrier gave a last growl and retired to the box. 
As she settled down in it a series of astonishing 
squeaks emerged. Myron looked across startledly 
and Merriman laughed. 

“Puppies,” he explained. “Six of them. 
That’s why she’s so ferocious. Seems to think 
every one who comes upstairs is a kidnapper. I 
tell her the silly things are too ugly to tempt any 
one, but she doesn’t believe me.” 

“Will she let me see them?” asked Myron 
eagerly. 

“Oh, yes.” Merriman drew his long length 
from the chair and led the way to the box. “Now 
then, old lady, pile out of here and let the gentle¬ 
man have a look at your ugly ducklings.” 

The terrier made no objection to being removed, 
but the puppies cried dismally at the parting. 
Myron ckuckled. ‘ ‘ Funny things! ” he exclaimed. 
“Why, they haven’t got their eyes open yet!” 

“No, they’re only six days old. How’s this one 


‘‘A. T. MERRIMAN^’ 65 

for a butter-ball? Isn^t he a fat rascal? All 
right, Tess, we won’t hurt them. I vouch for the 
gentleman. He never stole a puppy in all his 
innocent young life.” 

never did,” Myron corroborated, ^‘but I’d 
like to start right now!” 

‘‘Like dogs, eh? ” asked the host. 

“Yes, indeed. Funny thing is, though, that I’ve 
never owned one.” 

“No? How does that happen?” 

“I don’t know. My mother thinks they’re 
rather a nuisance around the house. Still, I dare 
say she’d have let me kept one if I’d insisted. 
I don’t suppose you—you’d care to sell one of 
those?” 

“Oh, yes, I would. I’ll have to either sell them 
or give them: unless I send them otf to the happy 
hunting ground. ’ ’ ^ 

“Really? How much would they be?” 

“The lot?” asked Merriman, a twinkle in his 
eye. 

“Gee, no! One!” 

“Five dollars. Tess is good stock, and the 
father is a thoroughbred belonging to Terrill, the 
stableman on Centre Street. Got a place to keep 
him?” 

“I’d forgot about that,” owned Myron. “I’m 


66 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 
afraid not. They wouldn’t let me have him in 
Sohmer, would they?” 

‘ * Scarcely! ’ ’ laughed the other. ‘ ‘ All right, old 
lady, back you go. Sit down—ah—What’s the 
name, please!” 

‘‘Foster. Mr. Morgan gave me your address. 
I want some tutoring in Latin, and he said he 
thought you could take me on.” 

“Possibly. Just dump those books on the seat 
there. What hours do you have free, Foster!” 

‘ ‘ This hour in the morning and any time in the 
evening. ’ ’ 

“Wliat about afternoon!” 

“I’m trying for the football team and that 
doesn’t leave me much time afternoons. Still, I 
guess we’re usually through by five.” 

Merriman shook his head. “I’d rather not 
waste my time and yours, Foster. Football prac¬ 
tice doesn’t leave a fellow in very good trim for 
tutoring. Better say the evening, I guess. How 
would seven to nine do!” 

“Two hours!” asked Myron startledly. 

“Yes, you can’t accomplish much in less. I 
can’t, anyhow.” 

“Very well. Seven to nine. Shall I come here 
or-” 

“I’ll come to you. What’s the number in 


‘‘A. T. MERRIMAN^^ 


67 


Solimer'? Seventeen! All right. We’ll begin 
tomorrow. My terms are a dollar an hour. You 
pay for the time it takes me to get to you, usually 
about ten minutes. Can you arrange with your 
room-mate to let us have the place to ourselves 
at that time!” 

^‘Oh, yes,” replied Myron confidently. 

‘^Good. Now pull your chair over here, please, 
and we’ll see what the job is.” 

Merriman had a lean face from which two dark 
brown eyes looked keenly forth. His mouth was 
broad and his nose straight and long. A high 
forehead, a deep upper lip and a firmly pointed 
chin added to the general effect of length. You 
couldn’t have called him handsome, by any stretch 
of the imagination, but there was something at¬ 
tractive in his homeliness. Perhaps it was the 
expression of the eyes or perhaps the smile that 
hovered continuously about the wide mouth. He 
dressed, Myron reflected, as wretchedly as Joe 
Dobbins: more wretchedly, in fact, for Joe’s 
clothes were at least new and good of their kind, 
whereas Merriman’s things were old, frayed, ill- 
fitting. His trousers, which bagged so at the 
knees that they made Merriman look crooked, 
had been a positive shock to the visitor. But in 
spite of attire and surroundings, Myron liked this 


68 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


new acquaintance. Above all, he liked his voice. 
It was deep without being gruff and had a kind 
of—of pleasant kindliness in it, he thought. After 
all, it was no fault to be poor if you couldn’t help 
it, he supposed; and he had known fellows back 
home—not intimately, of course, but well enough 
to talk to—who, while poor, were really splendid 
chaps. 

Presently Merriman finished his questions and 
finished jotting down little lines and twirls and 
pot-hooks on a scrap of paper. Myron rather 
wished he knew shorthand too. It looked ridicu¬ 
lously easy the way Merriman did it. ‘‘All right, 
thanks,” said the latter as he laid his pencil down. 
“I think I know what we’ve got ahead of us. 
Frankly, I don’t see how they let you into the 
third with so little Latin, Foster. But we’ll cor¬ 
rect that. How are you at learning, by the way? 
Does it come easy or do you have to grind 
hard?” 

“Why, I think I learn things fairly easily,” 
replied Myron doubtfully. “Of course, Latin 
looks hard to me because I’ve never had much 
of it, but I think—I hope you won’t find me too 
stupid. ’ ’ Afterwards, recalling the visit, it struck 
him as odd that he should have said that. Usually 
he didn’t trouble greatly about whether folks 


“A. T. MERRIMAN’’ 69 

found him one way or another. He was Myron 
Foster, take him or leave him! 

‘ ‘ I shan % ’ ’ answered Merriman. ‘ H Ve had all 
sorts and I always manage to get results.’’ 

‘‘Do you do much tutoring?” Myron asked. i 

“A good deal. Not so much now as later. 
Spring’s my busy time.” 

“I shouldn’t think you’d have time for your 
own studies.” 

“I’m not taking much this year. Only four 
courses. I could have finished last spring, but I 
wasn’t quite ready for college then. By the way, 
if you hear of any one wanting a nice puppy I 
wish you’d send them to me. I can’t keep all that 
litter and I’d hate to kill the poor little tykes.” 

“I will,” Myron assured him. “And—and I’m 
not sure I shan’t buy one myself. I suppose I 
could find some one to keep him for me.” 

“I think so. Well, good morning. Say good-bye 
to the gentleman, Tess.” 

The terrier barked twice as Myron closed the 
door behind him. 


CHAPTER VII 


WITH THE AWKWARD SQUAD 

^^ Sure ! That all right, ’ ’ said Joe Dobbins. ‘ ‘ If 
I want to dig I can trot over to the library or some¬ 
where. Seven to nine, you saidT^ 

^‘Yes, but it won’t be for very long, I guess; 
maybe only a couple of weeks. Merriman seemed 
an awfully clever sort of a chap.” 

‘‘Must be if he can teach Latin ! I never did see 
the good of that stuff, anyway.” Joe fluttered the 
pages of the book he had been studying. After 
a moment he said; “Say, Foster, you’re a sort of 
sartorial authority—how’s that for language, eh? 
—and you know what’s what in the line of clothes, 
I guess. Now I wish you’d tell me honestly if 
there’s anything wrong with the things I wear. 
They look all right to me, but I notice two or three 
of the fellows sort of piping ’em off like they were 
wondering about ’em. What’s wrong with the 
duds!” And Joe glanced over the grey suit, with 
the large green and blue threads running through 
it, that he was wearing. 

“Why, they-” But Myron paused. Three 

70 


WITH THE AWKWARD SQUAD 71 

days before he would not have hesitated to render 
a frank opinion of the clothes; would have wel¬ 
comed the opportunity, in fact: but this after¬ 
noon he found that he didnT want to hurt Joe’s 
feelings. 

‘ ‘ Spit it out, kiddo—mean Foster! Let’s know 
the worst.” 

‘‘Well, I suppose they’re good material and well 
made, Dobbins, butHhe fact is they—they’re dif¬ 
ferent, if you see what I mean.” 

“I don’t. What do you mean, just? Style all 
wrong by Fifth Avenue standards!” 

“By any standard,” replied Myron firmly. 
“They look ready-made.” 

“But, gee, they are ready-made! I never had a 
suit made to order in my life. Why should I! 
I’m not hump-backed or—or got one leg longer 
than the other!” 

“Some ready-made clothes don’t look it, 
though,” explained Myron. “Yours do. Did you 
get them in Portland!” 

“Sure. We’ve got some dandy stores in Port¬ 
land.” 

“Did that suit come from the best one!” asked 
Myron drily. 

“N-no, it didn’t, to tell the hideous truth.” 
Joe chuckled. “You see, the old man has a friend 


72 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


who runs a store and weVe both got sort of used 
to dealing with this guy. He’s a pretty square 
sort, too; a Canuck. Peter Lafavour’s his name. 
But I guess maybe Peter doesn’t know so much 
about style as he makes out to, eh ? I always sort 
of liked these duds, though: they ’re sort of—er— 
snappy, eh?” 

Myron smiled. ‘‘They’re too snappy, Dobbins. 
That’s one out with them. Then they don’t fit 
anywhere. And they look cheap and badly cut.” 

“Aside from that they’re all right, though?” 
asked Joe hopefully. 

“Perhaps, although gentlemen aren’t wearing 
pockets put on at an angle or cuffs on the sleeves.” 

“And Peter swore that this suit was right ns 
rain!” sighed Joe. “Ain’t he the swine? How 
about my other one?” 

“Well, it’s better cut and hasn’t so many queer 
folderols,” answered Myron, “but it looks a good 
deal like a grain-sack when you get it on, old 
man.” 

“What do you know about that!” Joe shook 
his head dismally, but Myron caught the irre¬ 
pressible twinkle in his room-mate’s eyes. 
“Guess I’ll have to dig down in the old sock and 
buy me a new outfit,” he continued. “I suppose 
those tony-looking duds you wear were made to 


WITH THE AWKWARD SQUAD 73 

order, eli? Think your tailor could make me a 
suit if I wrote and told him what size collar I 
wearT’ 

‘‘I^m afraid not, but I saw a tailor shop in the 
village here today that looked pretty good. Why 
not try there?” 

‘‘Blamed if I don’t, kid—Foster! I don’t sup¬ 
pose you’d want to go along with me and see that 
I get what’s right? I’d hate to find I had too 
many buttons on my vest—I mean waistcoat— 
when the things were done! ’ ’ 

“I don’t mind,” answered Myron after an im¬ 
perceptible moment of hesitation, “although you 
really won’t need me if the chap knows his busi¬ 
ness. No first-class tailor will turn you out any¬ 
thing that isn’t correct.” 

“Yeah, but—well, I’d feel easier in my mind if 
I had you along. Maybe tomorrow, eh? Some¬ 
how these duds I’ve got on don’t make such a 
hit with me as they did I Coming over to the gym? 
It’s mighty near time for practice.” 

“In a minute,” answered Myron carelessly. 
“You run along.’’ Then he reflected that if he was 
to go with Joe to the tailor’s the next day he might 
just as well start in now and get used to being 
seen with him. “Guess I’m ready, though,” he 
corrected. “Come on.” 


74 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


The distance from Sohmer to the gym was only 
a matter of yards, and it wasn’t until the two 
reached the entrance of the latter building that 
they encountered any one. Then, or so Myron 
imagined, the three fellows who followed them 
through the big oak door looked curiously from 
Joe’s astounding attire to his own perfectly cor¬ 
rect grey flannels. He was glad when the twi¬ 
light of the corridor was reached, and all the way 
down the stairs to the locker-room below he was 
careful to avoid all suggestions of intimacy with 
Joe. 

Football was still in the first rather chaotic 
phase. An unusually large number of candidates 
had reported this fall, and, while in theory it 
was a fine thing to have so much material to select 
from, in reality it increased the work to be 
done tremendously. On the second day of school 
one hundred and twelve boys of all sizes and 
ages and all degrees of inexperience were on 
hand, and coach, captain and trainer viewed the 
gathering helplessly. Today a handful of the 
original number had dropped out of their own 
accord, but there were still nearly a hundred left, 
and when Myron, having changed to his togs, fol¬ 
lowed the dribble of late arrivals to the field he 
wondered what on earth would be done with them 


WITH THE AWKWARD SQUAD 75 

all. Perhaps Coach Driscoll was wondering the 
same thing, for there was a perplexed frown on 
his face as he talked with Billy Goode and con¬ 
templatively trickled a football from one hand to 
the other. 

Myron rather liked the looks of Mr. Driscoll. 
So far he had not even spoken to the coach and 
doubted if the latter so much as knew of his 
existence, but there was something in the coaches 
face and voice and quick, decisive movements that 
told Myron that he knew his business. ‘‘Tod’’ 
Driscoll was about thirty, perhaps a year or two 
more, and had coached at Parkinson for several 
seasons. He was a Parkinson graduate, but his 
football reputation had been made at Yale. He 
was immensely popular with the students, al¬ 
though he made no effort to gain popularity and 
was the strictest kind of a disciplinarian. Today, 
while Myron, pausing at the edge of the crowded 
gridiron a few yards distant, viewed him and 
speculated about him, the coach showed rather 
less decision than usual, for twice he gave instruc¬ 
tions, once to Billy and once to the manager, and 
each time changed his mind. 

“We’ve got to find more instructors,” Myron 
heard him say a trifle impatiently. “How about 
you, Ken? Know enough football to take a bunch 


76 PULL-BACK FOSTER 

of those beginners over to the second team grid¬ 
iron T’ 

‘‘I’m afraid not, Coach,” answered Kenneth 
Farnsworth. 

“You don’t need to know much. What do you 
say, Billy? WLo is there? I’ve got most of the 
veterans at work already, and there isn’t one of 
them that shouldn’t be learning instead of teach¬ 
ing.” 

Myron didn’t hear the trainer’s reply, for at 
that moment a well-built, light-haired, somewhat 
harassed youth of apparently nineteen strode up 
to the group. “Look here, Coach,” he began be¬ 
fore he was well within talking distance, “what 
about the backs? We’ve got to have some get- 
together work before Saturday’s game, haven’t 
we? Cater says you’ve got him in charge of a 
kindergarten class, Brown’s sewed up the same 
way. Garrison hasn’t shown up-” 

“I know. Cap. But what are we going to do 
with this raft of talent? Some one’s got to take 
hold of them, and I can’t take more than twenty. 
Cummins is about ready to go on strike-” 

“It is a mess, isn’t it?” Captain Mellen turned 
and viewed the scene puzzledly. “The worst of it 
is that there probably aren’t a dozen in the whole 
lot worth troubling with.” 



WITH THE AWKWARD SQUAD 77 

‘^True, but weVe got to find the dozen/^ an¬ 
swered Mr. Driscoll. ‘^We can’t afford to miss 
any bets this year, Cap. We’ll call the first-choice 
backs together at four. That’ll give us half an 
hour for kindergarten stuff. But I want a couple 
more fellows to take hold. Who are they!” 

‘‘Search me! Why not double them up, sir!” 

“They’ve been doubled up—or pretty nearly. 
Cummins has about thirty to look after and Cater 
twenty-four or five. That’s too many. Sixteen’s 
enough for a squad. How about Garrison!” 

“He isn’t here. I don’t know what-” 

“He’s cut,” interposed Farnsworth. “Got a 
conference at four.” 

“Conference! Gee, why couldn’t he have that 
some other time!” asked Jud Mellen. 

“Time to start, sir,” said Farnsworth, looking 
at his watch. 

“All right, let’s get at it. But I wish I could 
think—Who’s that fellow there, Mellen!” Mr. 
Driscoll dropped his voice. Mellen turned and 
looked at Myron and shook his head. 

“I don’t Imow him. Coach. Who is he, 
Ken!” 

“I think”—Farnsworth turned the pages of 
his book until he had found the F’s—“I think his 
name is Forrest. No, Foster. High school fel- 


78 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

low. Two years playing. Passed a corking physi¬ 
cal exam.” 

^‘Poster!” 

Myron, who had been aware that he was under 
discussion, joined the group. ‘‘Yefe, sir?” he 
asked. 

Think you could take about twenty fellows 
over to the next field and show them how to handle 
the ball? You know the sort of stuff, donT you? 
Passing, falling, starting and so on. Want to try 
it?” 

‘‘Yes, sir, I can do it all right.” 

“Good! WeVe got such a mob here today that 
we’re short-handed. Stick to me a minute and 
I’ll round you up a bunch.” 

“You can’t call him exactly modest, can you?” 
asked the manager of Billy Goode when the others 
had walked away. “ ‘I can do it all right,’ says 
he.” 

“How do you know he can’t?” asked Billy. 
“And if he can there ain’t any harm in his saying 
so, is there? Say, if I was starting my life over 
again, my friend, I’d say yes to everything like 
that any one asked me. I missed a lot of good 
chances by being too modest.” 

“And truthful?” laughed Kenneth. 

“Let it go at modest,” said Billy smiling. 


WITH THE AWKWARD SQUAD 79 

Myron received eighteen boys as his portion and 
led them across to the second team gridiron and 
set to work. Four other awkward squads adorned 
the field, the hearer one being under the care of 
Charles Cummins. Myron smiled secretly when 
he saw the surprised stare with which Cummins 
regarded him. When their glances met Cummins 
nodded shortly. To put his class through the 
third lesson was no trick for Myron, but it was 
dreary and tiresome work. It seemed to him that 
Coach Driscoll must have deliberately apportioned 
to him the stupidest boys on the field, for of all the 
awkward squads Myron had ever had anything to 
do with his was the awkwardest. But some few 
presently began to respond to treatment and by 
the time they were jumping out of the line and 
digging knees and elbows and shoulders into the 
turf in the effort to land on the trickling pigskin 
he felt that he hadnT done so badly with them. 
He didn’t say much to them, for his own experi¬ 
ence had shown him that too much instruction and 
criticism only confused the pupil, and neither 
did he try to impress them with their stupidity. 
As a result, most of them eventually forgot to be 
self-conscious and tried to follow instructions. 
Watching, Myron heard a voice at his elbow and 
looked around into the face of Cummins, who, 


80 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


giving his own charges a moment of rest, had 
walked across unnoticed. 

^‘How do you like itr^ Cummins inquired 
shortly. 

<<There are other things I’d rather be doing,” 
replied Myron. He didn’t feel particularly 
friendly toward this chap who had badgered him 
so a day or two before, and his tone showed it. 
A smile flickered around the corners of Cummins’ 
mouth. 

^‘Main thing,” he said gravely, ‘‘is to be patient 
with them. I find that pays best.” 

Myron turned and looked at him wonderingly. 
“That sounds well,” he replied sarcastically. 
Cummins grinned. 

“Got it in for me, haven’t you?” he said. 
“Don’t blame you—er—Wliatever Your Name Is. 
I was never cut out for a teacher. Besides, I 
want to get to work myself. What’s your line? 
Tackle!” 

“I don’t know. Whatever I get, I suppose. 
Try that again, you chap. Get started quicker. 
I played half-back last year.” 

“Guard’s my game. Well, I guess I’d better 
go back and hound those fellows some more. See 
you again, Foster, if I live.” 

Myron wondered why Cummins had pretended 


WITH THE AWKWARD SQUAD 81 

not to recall his name at first. ‘^Jnst to be as 
disagreeable as possible, I guess,’’ he concluded. 
Cummins’ hectoring voice floated across the field 
just then: All right, my hearties! Line up again 
and, for the love of limes, look intelligent if you 
can’t act so!” 

Ten minutes later the awkward squads were 
called to the bench and Myron went to work on 
Squad D or E, he didn’t know which it was, and 
trotted around the field behind a shrill-voiced 
quarterback, practising a handful of elementary 
plays that he already knew by heart. He won¬ 
dered how long it would be before some one in 
authority discovered that they were wasting the 
time of a first-class half-back! 


CHAPTER VIII 


JOE TALKS SENSE 

Paekinson played Mapleton the first Saturday 
after the opening of school and had no difficulty 
in scoring as she pleased, confining herself mainly 
to old-style line-bucking attack. Mapleton was 
not, however, a strong opponent, and the final 
score of 18 to 0 was not particularly complimentary 
to the home team. There was much ragged play¬ 
ing on both sides, for neither team had had more 
than a week of preparation. Parkinson started 
with four of last year’s players in the line and 
two behind it. The substitutes, of whom many 
were used before the contest was over, were not 
notably brilliant, with the possible exception of a 
lad named Keene, who went in as left end in the 
final five minutes, and of Joe Dobbins who played 
a steady game at right tackle for the entire fourth 
period. Myron, watching from the bench with 
half a hundred others, viewed Joe’s success with 
mingled emotions. He was rather surprised at 
Joe’s skill, but he was not a little disgruntled at 
the ease with which that raw youth had attained 
82 


JOE TALKS SENSE 


83 


his success. Here was he, Myron, still kicking his 
heels with the fourth or fifth squad, while Joe, 
who played no better and knew no more football, 
was already chosen as possible school team ma¬ 
terial. Myron secretly thought it a ‘‘raw deal.’’ 
He had become fairly reconciled to remaining at 
Parkinson, but this afternoon he again began 
to suspect that his talents and merits were not to 
receive the consideration they deserved and to 
wish that he had been able to go elsewhere. They 
had worked him off on the kindergarten class as 
instructor two afternoons and he had received no 
thanks for his labours. Aside from that, he had 
received no sort of recognition. He might just as 
well be one of the raw recruits! He suspected 
that it might pay him to push himself forward a 
little: he believed that Joe had done that. But 
then Joe was just the sort of chap who would 
see nothing out of the way in self-advertisement. 
Although Myron held a very good opinion of him¬ 
self as a football player he considered it beneath 
his dignity to beg for favours. If Coach Driscoll 
couldn’t discover talent for himself then he could 
do without it. “I’ll give them another week or 
so,” decided Myron, “and then if they haven’t 
given me a show I’ll quit.” 

He was rather chilly toward Joe that evening. 


84 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

The Latin was progressing well. Merriman saw 
that it did. He arrived like clockwork every eve¬ 
ning save Sunday at exactly ten minutes past 
seven, spread his books and papers without the 
loss of a minute and had no breath for extraneous 
matters. ‘‘Good evening’^ was the extent of his 
small-talk. After that it was business with him. 
When, on the occasion of his first appearance in 
17 Sohmer, Myron asked him how the puppies 
were getting along, Merriman frowned and said: 
“You arenT paying me to talk puppies, Foster. 
Have you found the page?’’ Having finished the 
two-hour session, Merriman dropped his books 
into a green-cloth bag, took up his hat, said ‘ ‘ Good¬ 
night, Foster,” and went. That, at least, was the 
usual procedure, but this Saturday night he 
varied it. When he had pulled the string of that 
green bag close he laid it beside his hat and 
asked: “Doing anything?” 

“Doing—oh, no, not a thing,” answered Myron. 

‘ ‘ Then I ’ll stick around a few minutes. ’ ’ Merri¬ 
man pulled a chair toward him and settled his 
feet on it and sighed luxuriously. “I suppose 
you saw the game this afternoon. You told me 
you were out for the team, didn’t you?” 

“Yes.” Myron’s voice may have sounded dis¬ 
gruntled, for Merriman smiled faintly and asked: 


JOE TALKS SENSE 


85 


‘‘What’s the matter? Working you too hard?” 

“No, they aren’t working me at all,” replied 
Myron bitterly. “I mean, all I’m doing is going 
through a lot of stunts I learned two years ago. 
I guess things are sort of balled up this year. 
They’ve got so many candidates out there that 
they can’t begin to handle them all, and I dare say 
I’ll be just where I am in November—if I stay.” 

“Cheer up,” said the other. “They’ll let you 
go before that.” 

“But, hang it, Merriman, I’ve played the game 
for two years: more than that, counting when I 
was a kid: and I was captain of my team last year. 
That may not mean much to these fellows here, 
but at least it ought to secure me a chance to 
show what I can do. ’ ’ 

“Seems so. Doesn’t it? I mean, aren’t you 
getting a chance?” 

“No, I’m not,” answered Myron warmly. “I’m 
fuddling around with about fifteen or sixteen 
other fellows, most of whom never saw a foot¬ 
ball until a week ago, and getting nowhere. No 
one pays any attention to you here. They just say 
‘Eeport to Jones or Smith or some one’ and for¬ 
get all about you.” 

“Hm. Why not tell Driscoll you want a real 
try-out?” 


86 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


^‘Why can’t he see that I deserve one? It isn’t 
my place to select his players for him!” 

‘‘N-no, but if there are so many candidates that 
he’s likely to overlook you-” 

Merriman was interrupted by the entrance of 
Joe Dobbins. It was well after nine and Joe 
thought he was privileged to return home. Find¬ 
ing Merriman still there, however, he hesitated at 
the door. ‘ ‘ Hello! I thought you were through, 
Foster. I’ll beat it.” 

We are through,” said Merriman. ‘H’m going 
myself in a minute.” 

‘^Oh, all right. Don’t let me scare you away, 
though. ’ ’ 

Myron performed the introduction and the two 
boys shook hands. 

^‘Glad to know you,” said Joe heartily. ‘‘Any 
guy who knows enough Latin to teach it to others 
can have my vote every time!” 

Myron frowned. He wished that Joe wouldn’t 
talk so much like a rowdy, and he glanced at Merri¬ 
man to see how that youth had taken his room¬ 
mate’s breeziness. Apparently Merriman was 
neither pained nor surprised. Instead, he was 
regarding Joe with smiling interest. “Thanks,” 
he said, “but being able to teach Latin to others 
doesn’t amount to much, Dobbins. When tW 


JOE TALKS SENSE 87. 

other fellow knows a little less about any sub¬ 
ject than you do you can trust a lot to bluff. 

‘‘AinT that the truth!exclaimed Joe, flinging 
himself into a chair. ‘‘Look at Foster there. 
He’s been teaching a lot of poor dubs how to catch 
a football, and I dare say they think he invented 
the game 1 ’ ^ He winked at the visitor and grinned 
at Myron. The latter, however, was not feeling 
kindly enough toward Joe to take the joke grace¬ 
fully. He flushed and scowled. 

“I dare say I know as much football as some 
fellows who played this afternoon,’’ he said huf¬ 
fily. 

“Right you are, kiddo! But that isn’t saying 
a whole lot. Some of those guys were pretty 
green, I thought. Did you see the game!” He 
looked at Merriman and the latter shook his head. 

“No, I would have liked to, for, although I never 
played, I’m a regular football fan. But I don’t 
have much time for the games. I take it that you 
played today.” 

“Me! A little. They put me in for the last 
quarter. Guess they didn’t have any one else. ’ ’ 

“Where do you play!” asked Merriman. 

“Tackle, guard, anywhere around there. It’s 
a great game, football. I’d rather-play it than— 
than study Latin! Say, you’re the guy that has 


88 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


the puppies, aren’t you? Foster was telling 
me. I’d like to see ’em. I’m crazy about 
dogs.” 

‘‘Come around some day,” replied Merriman 
cordially. “You’ll find me in usually between 
nine and ten and one and two. ’ ’ 

“I’ll just do that little thing,” Joe agreed. 
“Gee, if I had a place to keep one of ’em I’d fall 
for it. Maybe if I find a room outside I’ll buy 
one off you.” 

“Glad to sell you one, Dobbins. I’ve got five 
that I don’t need. Well, I must be getting 
back. By the way, I’m home all the morning to¬ 
morrow. If you like to drop around I’ll be glad 
to show you my children.” 

“It’s a go,” said Joe heartily. “Have ’em all 
dressed up for company, eh? I’ll be there.” 

“Nice guy,” observed Joe when Merriman had 
taken his departure. “I sure do like a fellow 
that looks cheerful. Ever notice how many of the 
chaps here look like they’d just eaten a sour 
pickle, Foster? It doesn’t cost a cent more to 
look cheerful, either.” 

“Your idea of looking cheerful is to grin like a 
codfish all the time,’’ growled Myron. “I’d rather 
look the other way.” 

“Huh! Ever have a good look at a codfish, 


89 


JOE TALKS SENSE 

kiddo? He looks as sour as—as you do this 
minute! Has his mouth all drawn down, you 
know. Maybe he ^s a real merry sort of a guy when 
he’s in the water, but he sure doesn’t look that 
way when he’s out of it!” 

Never mind how I look,” said Myron sharply. 
^‘And cut out that ^kiddo.’ I’ve spoken about 
that often enough.” 

‘‘Oh, all right. My error.” Joe winked gravely 
at the lamp. After a moment he asked: “When’s 
that furniture of yours coming?” 

‘ ‘ I don’t know. It should have been here before 
this. Why?” 

“Nothing. I was just wondering. I was look¬ 
ing at a room on Union Street this afternoon. A 
fellow’s got it now, but the dame says he’s going 
to move out next week. I’d have to furnish it 
myself, of course. I suppose furniture costs a 
good bit, eh?” 

“Some of it,” answered Myron. 

“Maybe I could get some second-hand things, 
though. I wouldn’t need much. The trouble 
with the dive is that it has only one window and 
that looks out on a back yard full of washing* 
There’s something sort of—of dejecting about a 
lot of clothes on a line. Don’t know why, either. 
How’d you like the game?” 


90 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


^‘All right, I guess.” 

^‘How did I do?” 

‘^You know as well as I, don’t you? I wasn’t 
watching you particularly.” 

‘‘That’s funny,” chuckled Joe. “I thought 
every one was watching me hard. Anyway, the 
guy I played opposite was! That was an easy 
hunch, though. Their hacks weren’t on the job at 
all. Maybe I wouldn’t rip them up if I was their 
coach! They say next Saturday’s game will be 
a real one, though. Hope they let me in again. 
How are you coming on, by the way?” 

“I’m not coming on,” said Myron. “I’m get¬ 
ting a bit sick of it, and if they think I’m going 
to stand much more of their silly nonsense they’re 
mistaken. I’m all right to coach a lot of greenies, 
it seems, but after that I can whistle. I wouldn’t 
mind if I couldn’t play as well as half the fellows 
that were in the game today.” 

“I guess your time’s coming,” said Joe con¬ 
solingly. “They’ll be weeding them out next 
week, and when they’ve got rid of about forty of 
them they’ll be able to see what’s left.” 

“If they don’t hurry I won’t be one of those 
left,” said Myron grumpily, “and that’s flat. I 
wish I’d stuck to my first scheme and gone to 
Kenwood. There are fewer fellows there and 


JOE TALKS SENSE 91 

maybe a chap might have a chance to get some¬ 
where.’’ 

Joe shook his head disapprovingly. ‘‘I’m glad 
you didn’t do that,” he said. “Sort of sounds 
like treason or something. Say, how’d you happen 
to change your mind, anyway? Old man kick at 
it?” 

Myron had not gone into particulars regarding 
his decision to remain at Parkinson but had told 
Joe that “he guessed he’d try to stick it out.” If 
Joe had surmised the real reason for the overnight 
change of heart he had kept the fact to himself. 
Now Myron hesitated. He didn’t want the real 
reason known nor did he want to tell Joe a lie. 
So he answered: “There wasn’t any kick, but as 
you spoke of going to the village I thought—that 
is—my father thought-” 

“Oh, he knew about that, eh?” 

“Who? About what?” 

“Your father: about me thinking of getting a 
room outside.” 

“Not exactly, only he thought I might get a 
place to myself later.” 

“You’re a punk liar, Foster,” laughed Joe. 
“The old man put your little scheme on the blink 
when he telegraphed to you. Now didn’t 
he?” 


92 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


About that/’ confessed Myron a bit sheep¬ 
ishly. 

^‘Sure! I knew it all the time. And he was 
dead right, too. I’m going to talk sense to you, 
Foster, whether you get sore or not. The trouble 
with you is that folks have made you think you’re 
something a little bit better than the common run 
of fellows. You’ve always had everything you’ve 
wanted and you’ve been kept pretty close to the 
old million dollar hut, and I guess when you were 
a youngster you didn’t have many fellows to play 
around with because your folks thought they might 
be sort of rough and teach you to throw snowballs 
and wrestle and all those vulgar things. And 
you’re the only kid, too, aren’t you?” 

‘‘Yes,” said Myron loftily, “but if you’ll kindly 
mind your own business-” 

“Shan’t,” said Joe unruffledly. “You listen a 
minute. What I’m telling you’s for your own 
good, just like everything nasty. Being an only 
kid with rich parents and servants to tuck your 
napkin around your neck and everything is 
mighty hard on a fellow. It—it mighty near ruins 
him, Foster! You aren’t exactly a ruin—^yet, 
but you’re sure headed that way. Why, dog¬ 
gone you, why ain’t I good enough to room 
:with? What you got that counts that I 


JOE TALKS SENSE 


93 


ain’t got? Same number of arms and legs, 
eh? Wear about the same size hat, don’t we? 
Some fellows would have punched your head if 
you’d lorded it over ’em the way you did over 
me that first day. Why-” 

‘^You try it!” said Myron wrathfully. 

‘^Well, you look like a fair scrapper, but I don’t 
believe you ever had a good fight in your life. 
Anyway, that’s not the question. What I want 
to know is where you got your license to act like 
you’re better than the next guy. Money don’t 
make you that way, nor classy clothes, nor know¬ 
ing how to get into a limousine without falling 
over your feet. Hang it, Foster, you’d be all 
right if you’d just forget that your old man owns 
a ship-yard and get it into your bean that other 
fellows are human even if they wear hand-me- 
downs and would try to shake hands with the 
butler! Think it over, old horse, and see if I 
ain’t right.” 

don’t have to think it over. You ‘ain’t’ 
right.” Myron laughed contemptuously. “You 
think-” 

“Yeah, I’m likely to say ‘ain’t’ when I get ex¬ 
cited,” replied Joe, “but I’ll get over that in 
time.” 

“You think that just because I wear decent 


94 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


clothes I^m stuck-up/’ protested Myron hotly. 
‘MVe never said or pretended that I am better 
than—than any one else! As for rooming with 
you, I explained that. I was to have a room to 
myself. That was understood.” 

‘‘All right,” said Joe soothingly. “But when 
you found you couldn’t be by yourself why didn’t 
you face it like a sport? And why turn up your 
nose as if they’d asked you to bunk in with the 
Wild Man of Borneo?” 

“I’d just as lief,” sputtered Myron. “He 
wouldn’t be any wilder than you are!” 

“Yeah, but wait till you see me in those new 
duds we ordered,” said Joe pleasantly. “Maybe 
you’ll be real proud of me then. Wouldn’t wonder 
if you’d almost speak to me when there’s other 
fellows looking!” 

Myron flushed and his eyes fell. “That’s a 
rotten thing to say, Dobbins,” he muttered. 

“True, though, ain’t—isn’t it?” 

“No, it isn’t!” 

“My mistake then. Sorry. Well, I’m for the 
old bed. I suppose I might have kept my mouth 
shut and minded my own business, like you said, 
but that mess of talk’s been sort of accumulating 
ever since we came together and I feel better for 
getting rid of it, whether you do or not! Sorry 


JOE TALKS SENSE 


95 


if I said anything to hurt your feelings, Foster.” 

‘‘DonT worry. You didn’t. What you say 
doesn’t cut any ice with me.” 

‘‘Then there’s no harm done, eh? Nor good 
either. It may make you happier to know that 
I’ve decided to take that room'I told you about, 
though. The guy that’s in it now moves out next 
Friday and faculty’s given me leave to change. 
That ought to give you sweet dreams, eh?” 

“It will,” replied Myron acidly. 


CHAPTER IX 


MYEON LOSES HIS TEMPER 

The next morning Joe was as cheerful and smil¬ 
ing and good-natured as ever, but Myron wasn’t 
yet ready to forget,*and his responses to his room¬ 
mate’s overtures were brief and chilling. After 
breakfast, which on Sundays was a half-hour 
later, Joe suggested that Myron walk over to the 
village with him and visit Merriman and see the 
puppies. Myron wanted to go, for the day was 
chill and cloudy and generally depressing, but 
his pride wouldn’t let him and so he answered 
shortly that he had seen the puppies and he 
guessed they hadn’t changed much. When Joe 
had taken himself off Myron felt horribly out-of¬ 
sorts and was heartily glad when church time 
came and, immaculately but soberly attired, he 
could set forth across the campus. Dinner was at 
one o’clock, a more hearty repast than most of the 
fellows needed after a morning spent in compara¬ 
tive idleness. However, no one skimped it. 
Myron went right through from soup to ice-cream, 
becoming more and more heavy and gloomy under 


96 


MYEON LOSES HIS TEMPER 97 

the effects of an overloaded stomach. He had 
been placed at a table near the serving-room doors, 
and, while some of his companions declared that 
you got your things quicker and hotter by being 
so close to the source of supplies, Myron disliked 
having the doors flap back and forth directly be¬ 
hind his back and detested the bursts of noise and 
aroma that issued forth at such times. Today he 
resented those annoyances more than ever and 
found the conversation about him more than ordi¬ 
narily peurile. 

There were a good many third class boys at his 
table, fellows of fourteen and fifteen, whose de¬ 
portment was anything but staid. They were 
much given to playing practical jokes on each 
other, such as surreptitiously salting a neigh¬ 
bour’s milk or sprinkling pepper in his napkin. 
And they were not above flicking pellets of bread 
when the nearest faculty member was not look¬ 
ing. Each table had a “Head” whose duty it was 
to see that proper decorum was observed. In 
some cases the Head was one of the faculty, in 
other cases he was an older boy. The Head at 
Myron’s table was a second class chap named 
Rogers, a stoutish, easy-going fellow who was 
generally so busy eating everything he could lay 
hands to that he had no time for correcting his 


98 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 

charges. It was unfortunate that young Tinkham/ 
the pink-cheeked, sandy-haired little cherub who 
sat almost opposite Myron, should have selected 
today for his experiment with the bread pellet. 
Tinkham had longed for days to see if he could 
lodge a pellet against Myron’s nose. To Tinkham 
that nose looked supercilious and contem]Dtuou3 
and seemed to fairly challenge assault. Until 
now Tinkham had never been able to summon suf¬ 
ficient courage to dare the sacrilege, but today 
there was a demoralising atmosphere about and 
so when, having eaten his ice-cream and having 
nothing further to live for anyway, he saw 
Myron’s gaze wander toward the further end of 
the hall Tinkham drew ammunition from under 
the edge of his butter dish and with an accuracy 
born of long practice let fly. His aim proved 
perfect. Myron dropped his spoon and sped a 
hand to his outraged nose. Before him, perched 
on the remains of his ice-cream, was the incrimi¬ 
nating missile, and of all those who had ^vitnessed 
the deed only one remained unsmiling, demure 
and innocent, and that one was the cherubic, fair¬ 
haired Tinkham. 

Myron lost his temper instantly and completely. 
^‘That was you, Tinkham! I saw you!” The 
latter statement was hardly truthful, but Tinkham 


MYRON LOSES HIS TEMPER 99 

didn’t challenge it. He only looked surprised and 
pained. ‘‘You try that again and I’ll box your 
silly little ears for you! Remember that, tool” 
Myron flicked the bread pellet disgustedly aside 
and glowered at the offender. 

said one of Tinkham’s friends, and the 
younger element became convulsed with laughter. 
At that, Rogers, who had been bending absorbedly 
over his dessert, looked up. 

“Cut that out, fellows,” he remonstrated feebly. 

“We’re only laughing,” giggled one of the boys. 

“Wake up, Sam,” said Eldredge, who was 
Rogers’ age and had viewed the proceedings with 
unconcealed amusement. “You’re missing all the 
fun. If you didn’t eat so much-” 

“If he didn’t eat so much he might keep order 
at the table,” said Myron. 

Rogers was too surprised to reply, but Eldredge 
took up the cudgels in his behalf. ‘“Oh, don’t be 
a grouch, Foster,” he sneered. “The kid didn’t 
hurt you. It was only fun.” 

“I don’t like the kind, then,” answered Myron 
haughtily. “After this he can leave me out of his 
‘fun.’ ” 

“Oh, piffle! Come back to earth! If I’d been 
Tinkham I’d have shied the whole loaf at you. 
Then you’d have had something to kick about.” 



100 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘The something would have been you, then,’’ 
retorted Myron. 

“Would it? Is that so?” Eldredge glared 
angrily across the table. “Think you’re man 
enough to kick me, do you? Why, say-” 

“Dry up, Paul!” begged Rogers. “Tasser’s 
got his eye on you.” 

“I won’t dry up,” retorted the insulted 
Eldredge. Nevertheless he dropped his voice be¬ 
yond the hearing of the neighbouring instructor. 
“If that stuck-up mollycoddle thinks he can talk 
about kicking me and get away with it he’s all 
wrong, believe me! ” The younger boys were lis¬ 
tening in open delight and Tinkham was fairly 
squirming with excitement. “Get that, Foster?” 

“I heard you,” replied Myron indifferently. 

“You did, eh? Well, any time you feel 
like-” 

‘ ‘ Rogers, what’s wrong at your table ? ” It was 
Mr. Tasser’s voice, and Eldredge stopped sud¬ 
denly and gulped back the rest of his remark. 

“I—I—that is, nothing, sir,” stammered the 
Head. Then, to Eldredge in an imploring whis¬ 
per: “Shut up, will you?” he begged. “Want to 
get me in wrong?” Eldredge muttered and shot 
venomous looks at Myron while the youngsters 
sighed their disappointment. Myron folded his 



MYRON LOSES HIS TEMPER 101 

napkin and arose leisurely, aware of the unsympa¬ 
thetic regard of his companions, and walked out. 
In the corridor he waited for a minute or two. He 
had no desire to carry matters any further with 
Paul Eldredge, but he felt that if he hurried 
away that youth might misconstrue the action. 
However, Eldredge didnT appear and so Myron 
went across to Sohmer, still sore and irritated, to 
find an empty study. Eldredge’s failure to follow 
Myron out of the dining hall had been due entirely 
to discretion. With Mr. Tasser’s penetrant and 
suspicious gaze on him, he decided that it would 
be wise to avoid all seeming interest in Myron. 

Joe failed to return to the room, and after try¬ 
ing to do some studying and finding that he simply 
couldn’t keep his mind on his task, Myron pulled a 
cap on and sallied forth again. It was misting by 
then, and a chilling suggestion of autumn was in 
the air. When he had mooned along the country 
road that led toward Cumner for a mile or so with¬ 
out finding anything of interest he turned back 
toward the town. A hot chocolate in a corner 
drug store restored his spirits somewhat and, hav¬ 
ing no better place to go, he crossed the railroad 
and made his way through the dreary quarter that 
held the residence of Merriman. He didn’t sup¬ 
pose Merriman would be in, but it was something 


102 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

to do. Recalling former instructions, be didnT 
bother to ring the bell this time, but opened the 
door and climbed the dark stairway to the second 
floor. That Merriman was in became known to 
him before he had groped his way to the room, 
for from beyond the closed portal came the sound 
of voices. For a moment Myron hesitated. He 
hadn’t bargained on finding \dsitors there. But 
the loneliness of Number 17 Sohmer on this Sun¬ 
day afternoon decided him, and he knocked. Mer¬ 
riman’s voice bade him enter and he opened the 
door on a surprising scene. 

On the decrepit window-seat reclined Joe Dob¬ 
bins. Close by, in the room’s one armchair, with 
his feet on a second chair, was Merriman. Be¬ 
tween the two was a corner of the deal table, 
dragged from its accustomed place, and on the 
table was the remains of a meal: some greasy 
plates, a coffee pot, cups, bits of bread, about a 
third of a pie, a half-eaten banana, a jar of milk. 
The room, in spite of a wide-open window, smelled 
of sausages. On Joe’s chest reposed Tess, the 
terrier, evidently too full of food and contentment 
to bark, and in Merriman’s lap was a squirming 
bunch of puppies. 

‘‘Come in, Foster,” called the host genially. 
“Pardon me if I don’t get up, but just now I am 


MYRON LOSES HIS TEMPER 103 

weighted with family cares. Find a chair and 
draw up to our cosy circle. Have you had food? 
There’s some pie left, and I can heat some coffee 
for you in a second.” 

“I’ve had dinner, thanks, a good while ago.” 
He carefully lifted a dozen or so books from a 
chair and took it across to the window. He felt 
rather intrusive. And there was Joe grinning at 
him from the seat, and he was supposed to have 
a grouch against Joe. 

“Well, have a piece of pie, won’t you?” begged 
Merriman hospitably. “Sure? We were sort of 
late with our feed. What time is it, anyway? 
Great Scott, Dobbins, it’s nearly four! How long 
have we been sitting here?” 

, “I’ve been here ever since I worried down 
that last piece of pie,” said Joe, “and I guess 
that was about an hour and a half ago. You ought 
to have showed up earlier, Foster. You missed a 
swell feed!” 

“Sausages and potatoes and pie,” laughed 
Merriman. “Still, we managed to nearly kill our¬ 
selves: at least, I did.” Joe groaned and shifted 
the terrier to a new position. “Been for a walk, 
Foster?” 

“Yes. It’s a rotten day, isn’t it?” 

“Is it?” Merriman glanced through the window 


104 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


in faint surprise. ‘‘I hadn’t noticed. Sort of 
cloudy I see. By the way, I’ve sold one of these 
little beggars.” 

‘‘Have you? They’ve got their eyes open, 
haven’t they?” 

“Sort of half open,” chuckled Merriman. 
“Maybe they’re too fat to open them any wider. 
This is the one that’s sold. His name is—what was 
it you named him, Dobbins?” 

“Zephaniah,” answered Joe gravely, “Zeph- 
aniah Q. Dobbins.” 

“Wliat’s the Q for?” laughed Merriman. 

“Haven’t decided yet. I just put that in for 
the sound. You see, Foster, I’m calling him 
Zephaniah after an old codger who used to live 
near us up at Hecker’s Falls, Maine. Zephaniah 
Binney was his name. He used to be a cook in the 
logging camps, but he got so fat tasting the 
things he cooked that he had to quit. After that 
he used to sit in front of his shack all day, tilted 
back in a chair, and look for work.” 

“Look for work?” laughed Merriman. 

“Yeah, he was always on the look-out for a 
job. ’Most strained his eyes looking. But some¬ 
how he never found one; leastways, he hadn’t 
when I saw him last. Funny old codger. Warren 
Wilson, who was postmaster and ran the store and 


MYRON LOSES HIS TEMPER 105 
one thing and another, used to bring the Bangor 
paper to Zeph every day and Zeph would study 
the advertisements mighty carefully. Guess he 
knew more about the Bangor labour market than 
any man alive. ‘I was readin’ where one o’ them 
big dry-goods houses is wantin’ a sales manager,’ 
Zeph would tell you. Ht don’t say how much 
they’re willin’ to pay, though. If I knew that I’d 
certain’y communicate with ’em, I would so. 
Maybe they’ll make mention o’ the salary tomor¬ 
row. I’ll just wait an’ see.’ ” 

‘^And he’s still waiting?” chuckled Merriman. 

^‘As far as I know.” 

‘‘What does he live on?” asked Myron. “Has 
he got money saved?” 

“No, he’s got something better; he’s got an 
up-and-coming wife who works just as hard as 
Zeph—looks. She’s a wonderful woman, too, Mrs.* 
Binney is. She’s lived with Zeph thirty years or 
more and she ain’t—hasn’t found him out yet. 
Or, if she has, she don’t let on. If you ask her 
has Zeph got a job yet she’ll tell you, ‘No, not 
yet, but he’s coosiderin’ acceptin’ a position with 
a firm o’ commission merchants down to Boston.’ 
And all the considering Zeph has done is read 
an advertisement in the Bangor paper where it 


106 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 
says the Boston folks want a few carloads of 
potatoes 

‘‘lUs sort of tough on the puppy, though,” 
murmured Myron. 

‘‘Well, there’s a strong resemblance between 
him and Zephaniah,” said Joe. “I’ve been 
watching him. He doesn’t push and shove for his 
food like the rest of them. He just waits, and 
first thing you know he’s getting the best there 
is. If that ain’t like Zeph I’ll eat my hat.” 

“Where are you going to keep him?” inquired 
Myron. 

“In my room—when I get it. He won’t want 
any better than I have, I guess. I don’t suppose 
he’s going to kick because there isn’t much of a 
view. ’ ’ 

Merriman asked about the new quarters and Joe 
supplied a drily humorous description of them. 
The room began to grow dark and the boy’s faces 
became only lighter blurs in the twilight. Tess 
went to sleep and snored loudly. Myron listened 
more than he talked, conscious of the comfortable, 
home-like atmosphere of the queer, illy-furnished 
room and putting off from minute to minute the 
return to school. But at last the town clock struck 
six and Joe lifted the terrier from his stomach, 
in spite of protests, and swung his feet to the floor. 


MYRON LOSES HIS TEMPER 107 

‘‘IVe got to be going,’’ he announced. 
‘‘Haven’t peeked into a book since Friday.” He 
yawned cavernously. “You coming along, 
Foster?” 

“Yes, I guess so.” Myron was glad to be 
asked, but he was careful to keep any trace of 
cordiality from his voice. 

“Well, come again,” said Merriman heartily. 
“Both of you. Sunday’s an otf-day with me 
and you’ll usually find me in about noon.” 

“Me? I’ll be back,” declared Joe. “I haven’t 
enjoyed a meal since I left home like I enjoyed 
that dinner. Brother, you sure can cook sau¬ 
sages!” 

“I like that guy,” said Joe when he and Myron 
were traversing the poorly-lighted street that led 
toward school. “He don’t have any too easy a 
time of it, either, Foster.” 

“No, I guess coaching isn’t much fun,” Myron 
agreed. 

“Well, he told me he liked it. Maybe he has 
to. He says he’s put himself clean through school 
that way. His father and mother are both dead 
and the only kin he’s got is an old aunt who lives 
out West somewhere. He says she’s got a right 
smart lot of money, but the only thing she ‘ever 
does for him is send him six handkerchiefs every 


108 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

Christmas. Says it’s a big help, though, because 
he doesn’t have to buy any. He’s a cheerful guy, 
all right, and the fellows hit on a swell name for 
him.” 

‘‘What’s that?” asked Myron. 

“Why, his name is Andrew Merriman, you 
know, and so they call him ‘Merry Andrew.’ 
Cute, ain’t it? He works hard every summer, too. 
Last summer he was a waiter at a hotel and did 
some tutoring besides. He’s a hustler. Doggone 
it, Foster, you’ve got to hand it to a guy like 
that!” ^ 

“Yes,” Myron agreed. Mentally he wondered 
that Merriman didn’t choose a less menial task 
than waiting on table. It seemed rather demean¬ 
ing, he thought. Joe was silent until they had 
reached the end of School Street and were enter¬ 
ing the campus gate. Then: 

“Say, I’d like to do something for him,” he 
said earnestly. “Only I suppose he wouldn’t let 
me.” 

“Do something? W^hat do you mean?” asked 
Myron. 

“Well, help him along somehow. Fix it so’s he 
wouldn’t have to work all the time like he does. 
The guy’s got a great bean on him. Bet you he 
knows more than the Principal and the rest of 


MYRON LOSES HIS TEMPER 109 

the faculty put together. A fellow like that ought 
to be able to go ahead and—and develop him¬ 
self. See what I mean! He's too—too valuable 
to waste his time serving soup and fish in a sum¬ 
mer hotel. If I did it it wouldn't hurt none, but 
he's different. If I had my way I'd fix him up 
in a couple of nice rooms with plenty of books and 
things and tell him to go to it." 

^‘But I don't just see how you could do any¬ 
thing much for him," said Myron. 

‘‘No, I guess he wouldn’t let me." 

“Maybe not. Anyway, it would take a good 
deal of money, wouldn't it!" 

“Yeah, I guess so. Well, I’m just talking. No 
harm in that, eh! I'm not going over to supper. 
I couldn't eat anything more if I was paid for it. 
See you later, kiddo." 

For once Myron failed to resent that form of 
address. In fact, he scarcely noticed it. Going 
across to Alumni Hall, he found himself looking 
forward with something akin to dismay to the 
time when Dobbins should have left him to the 
undisputed possession of Number 17! 


CHAPTER X 


THE CHALLENGE 

Mykon had quite forgotten Paul Eldredge and the 
incident of the bread pellet and only remembered 
when he seated himself at table and caught 
Eldredge’s unfriendly stare. As he was late, 
Eldredge and the others were nearly through the 
rather modest repast, and smiles and whispers 
across the board appraised him of the unpleasant 
fact that he was suspected of having delayed his 
arrival in order to avoid encountering his table 
\companions. Being far from the truth, this dis¬ 
pleased him greatly and as a result he bore him¬ 
self more haughtily than ever, thereby increasing 
the disfavour into which he had fallen at noon. 
Young Tinkham raised a snigger amongst his 
cronies by ostentatiously rolling a bit of biscuit 
into a pellet, but he didn’t throw it. Presently 
Myron was left alone, to his satisfaction, Eldredge 
passing him with a challenging look that would 
have given him cause for thought had he seen it. 
At the moment, however, Myron was looking into 
the bottom of his cup and so had no forewarning 
of what was to occur. 


110 


THE CHALLENGE 


111 


If Eldredge was in the corridor when he came 
out ten minutes later Myron didnT see him. It 
was not until he was half-way along the walk 
toward Sohmer that he again recalled Eldredge’s 
existence. Then he heard his name spoken and 
turned. Two fellows came toward him, the lights 
of Goss Hall behind them so that it was not until 
they had reached him that he recognised them as 
Eldredge and Eogers. It was Eldredge who had 
called and who now spoke. 

“Been looking for you ever since dinner, Fos¬ 
ter,’’ said Eldredge accusingly. “Kept sort of 
scarce, haven’t you?” 

Rogers laughed softly, nervously. Myron 
stitfened. 

“You couldn’t have looked very hard, Eldredge. 
I was in my room- 

“Oh, no you weren’t!” interrupted Eldredge 
triumphantly. “I looked there.” 

“Until half-past three—or three.” 

“Or half-past two—or two,” mocked the other. 

“Well, what of it?” asked Myron coldly. He 
knew now that Eldredge intended trouble. ^ ‘ What 
did you want me for?” 

“Oh, nothing much. I just wanted to give you 
something. ’ ’ 

“I don’t want it, thanks,” replied Myron. He 


112 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

turned to go on, but Eldredge stepped in front 
of him. 

‘‘DonT, eh! Wait till you know what it is, 
Mister Smug!^’ Eldredge’s arm shot out. Al¬ 
though he had not guessed the other^s intention, 
Myron caught sight of the movement and instinc¬ 
tively stepped back. The blow, aimed at his face, 
landed lightly on his chest. Prompted by a rage 
as sudden as Eldredge’s attack, Myron’s right 
hand swept swiftly up from his side and caught 
his opponent fairly on the side of the face with 
open palm. The sound of the slap and Eldredge’s 
snarl of mingled surprise and pain came close 
together. Staggered by the blow, Eldredge fell 
back a pace. Then he sprang forward again. 

‘‘You—you-” he stammered wildly. 

But Rogers, stout and unwieldy, threw himself 
between in a panic of entreaty. “Don’t, Paul! 
Not here! Some one’s coming! You’ll get the 
very dickens! You crazy dub, will you quit? 
Paul -” 

“No, I won’t!” grunted Eldredge, trying to 
shove Rogers aside. “He can’t hit me aind get 
away with it! I’ll show him-” 

“Let him alone,” said Myron. 

“No! Aw, quit, Paul! Honest, some one’s 
coming down the line. It won’t hurt you to wait 


113 


THE CHALLENGE 

a minute, will it?’’ Eogers was panting now from 
the double exertion of being a human barrier and 
a suppliant. But he won, for Eldredge, almost 
as angry with his friend for delaying revenge as 
with his enemy, but utterly unable to get past 
him, stopped his efforts in despair. 

‘‘What do you mean, wait a minute?” he de¬ 
manded, alternately glaring at Rogers and Myron. 

“Well, wait until tomorrow,” panted Rogers. 
“You know what ’ll happen if you fight here. Do it 
regular, Paul.” 

“Tomorrow! Where’ll he be by that time?” 
asked Eldredge scathingly. 

“Shut up!” cautioned Rogers hoarsely. 
“You’ll have a crowd here in a minute!” Already 
a group of three fellows had paused a little way 
off and were peering curiously through the dark¬ 
ness. “Listen, will you? "5^ou fellows can settle 
this just as well tomorrow as you can now. Fix 
it up for the brickyard at—at what time do you 
say, Foster?” 

“Any time he likes!” answered Myron oblig¬ 
ingly. Then, remembering that there were such 
things as recitations, he added: “Before break¬ 
fast: say a quarter to seven.” 

“You won’t want any breakfast when I get 
through with you,” growled Eldredge. 


114 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

‘^That all right for you, PaulT’ asked Rogers. 
By this time he was leading the others by force of 
example along the walk. 

‘‘Sure.” 

“Good! A quarter to seven, then, at the brick¬ 
yard. Come on, Paul. So long, Foster!” 

Myron made no answer as he strode on toward 
Sohmer. His pulses were still pounding, although 
he had managed to control his voice fairly well, 
and he was experiencing a sort of breathlessness 
that was novel and not altogether unpleasant. 
But, to be truthful, contemplation of tomorrow 
morning’s engagement with Eldredge at the brick¬ 
yard, wherever that might be, did not fill him with 
unalloyed bliss. In fact, as excitement dwindled 
something very much like nervousness took its 
place. Myron was not a coward, but, as he climbed 
the stairs in Sohmer, he found himself wishing 
that he had kept his temper and his tongue under 
control yesterday noon! 

Joe Dobbins, with both lean, sinewy hands 
desperately clutching his tousled hair, was bent 
over a book at the study table. Joe’s method of 
studying was almost spectacular. First he re¬ 
moved his coat, then his collar and tie. After 
that he seated himself on the edge of his chair, 
twined his ankles about the legs of it, tilted if 


THE CHALLENGE 


115 


forward until his elbows were on the table, got a 
fine, firm grip on his hair with each hand, took a 
long agonised breath—and plunged in! Studying 
was just as hard for him as it looked, and it is 
greatly to his credit that he succeeded at it as 
well as he did. Just now he looked up at Myron’s 
entrance. For a moment he stared vacantly. 
Then his hands dropped from his head, the chair 
thumped back into normal position and he came 
out of his trance. 

‘‘Hello,” he said vaguely. 

“Latin?” asked Myron. 

“Math,” was the sad response. Then, sensing 
something unusual about his room-mate, he asked: 
“What’s up?” 

“Nothing. Why?” 

“You look like some one had dropped a fire¬ 
cracker down your neck, or something. What’s 
disturbed your wonted calm? Say, how’s that? 
‘Wonted calm!’ Gee, that’s going some, ain’t it? 
I mean, is it not?” 

“Great,” said Myron absently. He went into 
the bedroom and methodically changed coat and 
vest for a grey house jacket. When he emerged 
Joe was still unsatisfied. 

“Going to study?” asked the latter. 

“Yes—no—I don’t know. I ought tc.” But 


116 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


Myron seated himself at the window instead of at 
the table and took one leg into his interlaced 
hands. Joe watched him solicitously. After a 
minute Myron asked with elaborate unconcern: 
“Did you ever fight any one, DobbinsT’ 

“MeU’ Joe chuckled. “Well, IVe been in a 
couple of scraps in my time. Why!” 

^ ‘ Just wondered. Wliat—how do you go at it! ” 
“Me!” Joe leaned precariously back in his 
chair. “Well, I ain’t got but one rule, Foster, 
and that’s: Hit ’em first and often.” 

“ Oh! I—I suppose boxing is—quite an art. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Don’t know much about boxing, kiddo. Where 
I come from they don’t go in for rules and regula¬ 
tions. When you fight—you fight: and about the 
only thing that’s barred is kicking the other fel¬ 
low in the head when he’s down! A real earnest 
scrap between a couple of lumber-jacks is about 
the nearest thing to battle, murder and sudden 
death that you’re likely to see outside the 
movies I” 

“I didn’t mean that sort of fighting,” said 
Myron distastefully. “Fellows at—well, say, at 
school don’t fight like that, of course.” 

“No, I don’t suppose so. T guess they stick to 
their fists. Anyway, they did where I went to 
school. We used to have some lively little scraps, 


THE CHALLENGE 117 

too/’ added Joe with a reminiscent chuckle. ‘‘I 
remember—But, say, what’s your trouble, Poster? 
Why are you so interested in fighting?” 

^^Oh, I was just wondering,” answered Myron 
evasively. 

‘‘Yeah, I know all about that. Who you been 
fighting?” 

“No one.” 

“Who you going to fight?” 

“I haven’t said I was going to fight, have I? 
I was just asking about it. Maybe I might have 
to fight some time, and-” 

“Sure, that’s so. You might. You can’t ever 
tell, can you?” Joe picked up a pencil and beat 
a thoughtful tattoo on the blotter for a moment. 
Then: “Who is he? Do I know him?” he asked. 

“Know who?” faltered Myron. 

“This guy that’s after you. Come on, kiddo, 
open up! Come across! Let’s hear the 
story.” 

So finally Myron told the whole thing, secretly 
very glad to do it, and Joe listened silently, save 
for an occasional grunt. When Myron had fin¬ 
ished Joe asked: “So that’s it, eh? Tomorrow 
morning at a quarter to seven at the brickyard. 
WHiere’s this brickyard located?” 

“I don’t know. I must ask some one.” 


118 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘Yeah. Now tell me this, Md—I mean Foster: 
What do you know about fighting?’^ 

“Not much,’^ owned Myron ruefully. “I saw a 
couple of fellows at high school fight once, but 
that’s about all.” 

“Never fought yourself?” 

Myron shook his head almost apologetically. 
“No, I never had occasion to.” 

Joe snorted. “You mean you never had a 
chance to find an occasion,” he said derisively. 
“You were kept tied up to the grand piano in the 
drawing-room, I guess. Think of a husky guy 
like you getting to be seventeen years old and 
never having any fun at all! Gee, it’s criminal! 
Your folks have got a lot to answer for, Foster, 
believe me! Here, stand up here and put your 
fists up and show me what you know—or don’t 
know. ’ ’ 

Myron obeyed and faced the other awkwardly. 
Joe groaned. 

“Gee, ain’t you the poor fish! Stick that foot 
out so you can move about. That’s it. Now I’m 
going to tap you on the shoulder, the left shoulder. 
Don’t let me!” But Myron did let him, although 
he thrashed both his arms about fearsomely. 
“Rotten! Watch me, not my hands. Now look 
out for your face!” 


THE CHALLENGE 119 

A minute later Joe dropped his hands, shook 
his head and leaned dejectedly against a corner of 
the table. ‘ HHs no use, kiddo, it's no use! You ’ll 
be the lamb going to the slaughter tomorrow. 
Ain’t any one ever taken the least interest in your 
education? What are you going to do when that 
Eldredge guy comes at you?” 

Myron smiled wanly. “I guess I’ll just have to 
do the best I can, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ Maybe he isn’t much 
better than I am.” 

“Don’t kid yourself. When a guy picks a quar¬ 
rel the way he did it means he knows a bit. Still, 

at that-” Joe stopped and stared thoughtfully 

at the wall. Then: “What’s his full name?” he 
asked. 

“Paul Eldredge is all I know of it.” 

“That’ll do. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 
Joe picked up his cap and made for the door. 
“Nothing like knowing what you’re up against,” 
he said. “Sit tight. Brother, and leave this to 
me. If I was you I’d do a bit of studying, eh?” 

Myron followed the advice. Just at first it was 
hard to get his mind on lessons, for his thoughts 
kept recurring to the coming encounter and when 
they did he squirmed uneasily in his chair and felt 
a kind of tingling sensation at the end of his 
spine. On the football field Myron had often 


120 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


taken blows and given them in the excitement of 
the game. He had had some hard knocks and 
had seen plenty of rough playing. He couldn’t 
remember ever having been afraid of an opponent, 
although he had more than once entered a contest 
wdth the knowledge that the enemy was ‘laying 
for him.” But, somehow, this was different. 
What resentment he had felt against Paul 
Eldredge had passed, and so even the spur of 
anger was lacking. He would have to stand up 
there tomorrow morning and be knocked around 
at Eldredge’s pleasure, it seemed, for no very 
good reason that he could think of. It was rather 
silly, when you came to consider it calmly. 
Eldredge had been rude to him, he had been rude 
to Eldredge, Eldredge had struck him, he had 
struck Eldredge. Now when things were nicely 
evened up he must take a licking! Well, he sup¬ 
posed there was no way out of it short of acting 
like a coward. He would have to take what was 
coming to him, getting off as easily as he could, 
and try to like it! Well, he had taken punishment 
before and could again. Having reached that con¬ 
clusion, he managed to get his thoughts back to 
his studies and was going very well when Joe 
returned. 


CHAPTER XI 


MYEON MISSES AN ENGAGEMENT 

‘‘Well, IVe got his number,’’ announced Joe, 
discarding his cap and dropping into a chair. 
“He’s a scrapper. He’s had three or four mix- 
ups since he has been here, usually, as near as I 
can make out, with fellows who didn’t know much 
fighting. He’s got a quick temper and is ugly 
when he’s started. He’s a second class fellow 
and plays hockey and baseball. Had a fuss with 
the baseball coach last spring and was laid off for 
awhile. Apologised and got back again finally. 
I didn’t hear any one say he was liked much. 
The main thing, though, is that he can scrap. 
Keith says he’s quite a foxy youth with his fists; 
says he thinks he’s taken lessons. So now we 
know where we are, eh?” 

“Yes, it seems so,” answered Myron. “Well, 
there’s no use talking about it, is there? Did you 
find out where this brickyard is?” 

“Yeah, it’s just across the street at the far 
121 


122 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

side of the campus, back from the road a bit. 
l\e been thinking, Foster. There’s no sense in 
you going up against a fellow ^vho knows how to 
fight, is there?” 

‘‘No, but it doesn’t seem to be a question of 
sense,” replied Myron, smiling. 

“What I mean is, it isn’t a fair proposition 
for a chap who can’t even keep his guard up to 
try to fight a guy who knows all the ropes. Might 
as well expect one of Merriman’s puppies to fight 
a bull-dog. That’s so, ain’t it?” 

“Well, it isn’t quite that bad,” said Myron. 
“At least, I hope not!” 

“Mighty near. So here’s my plan, kiddo. You 
stay right in your downy couch tomorrow morning 
and I’ll see this guy Eldredge myself.” 

‘ ‘ Sure! Why not ? He wants a scrap, don’t he ? 
Well, he wouldn’t get any if you were to go. It 
wouldn’t be w^orth his trouble getting out of bed. 
But me, I can show him a real good time, likely. 
I don’t say I can lick him, for they tell me he’s a 
right shifty guy and has some punch, but I can 
keep him interested until he’s ready to call it a 
day. Besides, I ain’t had a real good scrap since 
last winter and I’m getting soft. So that’s what 
we’ll do, eh?” 


MYRON MISSES AN ENGAGEMENT 123 

Myron laughed. Then, perplexedly, he asked: 
“You aren’t in earnest, Dobbins!” 

‘‘Sure, I’m in earnest! What’s the joke!” 

“I guess it would be on Eldredge,” chuckled 
Myron. 

“That’s so.” Joe smiled too. “He mil be a 
bit surprised, won’t he? Maybe he will be peeved, 
too. I wouldn’t wonder. Well, that’s nothing in 
our young lives, eh! We’re doing the best we can 
for him.” 

“But—but do you really think I’d agree to 
that!” asked Myron. “You’re joking, of course!” 

“What do you mean, joking!” demanded the 
other indignantly. “And why wouldn’t you 
agree! Ain’t it the sensible thing to do!” 

“Maybe, but I can’t do it, of course, Dobbins. 
You must see that. Why, hang it, if I challenge 
another fellow to fight I don’t expect him to send 
a substitute!” 

“What you expect don’t cut any ice, kiddo. If 
the guy you challenge can’t fight a little bit he’s 
a plain idiot to let you whang him around, ain’t 
he? And if he knows another guy who doesn’t 
mind taking his place why ain’t it all right and 
fair for him to send him along! Tell me those!’^ 

“Why, because—because it isn’t!” answered 
Myron impatiently. “Eldredge hasn’t anything 

t 


124 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

against you. His quarrel is with me. What would 
he say about me if I stayed away and let you go 
instead!’’ 

“Him! Wliat could he say! I’ll tell him you’re 
no scrapper. That’ll fix that in his mind, won’t 
it! Mind you, Foster, I ain’t saying he’s going 
to be pleased at running up against a guy who 
knows a thing or two about the game, but it don’t 
seem to me that we need to worry about whether 
he’s pleased or not. He wants a scrap and we’re 
giving him one. That’s enough, ain’t it!” 

“It’s the craziest thing I ever heard of,” said 
Myron. “Of course, I’m awfully much obliged, 
Dobbins. I appreciate it, honest. I don’t know 
why you should offer to do it, either. But it’s 
absolutely out of the question. So let’s not talk 
about it any more.” 

Joe frowned, opened his mouth, closed it again 
without speaking and fell to studying his hands. 
After a moment Myron asked: “What do I do 
when I get there, Dobbins! Do we shake hands 
or—or just start in!” 

“Start in,” answered the other absently. 
“Look here, Foster,” he continued earnestly, 
“you’re going to act like a plumb fool. WTiy, that 
guy’ll paste you all over your face and leave you 
looking like a raw beefsteak! Then faculty’ll 


MYRON MISSES AN ENGAGEMENT 125 

want to know what you’ve been doing and there’ll 
be all sorts of trouble on tap. What you going 
to do when he begins lamming you T ’ 

Myron shrugged. ‘ ‘ Stand him off the best way 
I can. Lamm him back if I can. Maybe I’ll get 
on to the game after awhile. I’m going to try. 
I thought maybe you could show me a few things 
tonight, just so’s I wouldn’t look too green to¬ 
morrow. It isn’t late, is it?” 

‘‘No, it isn’t late.” Joe brightened perceptibly 
for an instant, but then his face fell again and he 
shook his head. “It wouldn’t be any use, kiddo. 
You’d forget it all in the morning. I guess if you 
won’t do like I said the best tiling’ll be to let him 
knock you down as soon as possible. When you’re 
down, stay down. If he asks have you had enough, 
you tell him yes. Then you can shake hands and 
get through without getting all beat up.” 

“Is that what you’d do?” asked Myron sharply. 

• “Me? Well, I—I don’t know as I would, just.” 

“Then why should you think I’d do it? Who 
told you I was a coward? I can’t fight, and I 
know it, but I don’t intend to lie down!” 

“Whoa, Bill! I ain’t said you were a coward. 
I know better, of course. If you were a coward 
you’d try to squirm out of meeting the fellow, 
wouldn’t you? All right, have it your own way. 


126 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


kiddo. Only donT worry about it, seel You get 
a good sleep and leave tomorrow look after itself/’ 

‘‘Thanks. I’m going to do that, Dobbins. Guess 
I’ll turn in now and dream I’m Jess Willard or 
one of those guys—fellows. Are you going to 
study some morel” 

Joe nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to study some. 
Good night.” 

“Good night,” answered Myron. A few 
minutes later he spoke again from the bedroom. 
“I say, Dobbins!” 

“Yeah I” 

“I’m awfully much obliged. You’ve been 
mighty kind, you know.” 

“That’s all right, kiddo,” growled Dobbins. 
“Go to sleep.” 

Whether Myi'on dreamed that he was a prize¬ 
fighter, or dreamed at all, he didn’t remember 
when he awoke. That he had slept restfully, 
however, he realised the instant he was in pos¬ 
session of his faculties. He told himself that he 
felt fine. And when, a second later, he remem¬ 
bered the engagement at the brickyard the empty 
feeling at the pit of his stomach lasted but a 
moment. He turned his head and glanced at the 
clock on top of his dresser. Then he stared at 
it. It said twenty-eight minutes after six! It 


MYRON MISSES AN ENGAGEMENT 127 


wasn’t like that clock to go wrong. It had been 
all right last evening when he had wound it, too. 
Suppose it was still right 1 Suppose he had over¬ 
slept! He looked quickly at Joe’s bed. It was 
empty. Great Scott! He’d have to hurry if he 
was to get to that brickyard in seventeen minutes! 
He started to throw the covers aside, but he didn’t. 
He couldn’t! He couldn’t move his arm! Why, 
he couldn’t move any part of him except his head! 
Something awful had happened to him! Fright 
gripped him and in a panic he strove to get com¬ 
mand of his limbs. Horrible thoughts of paraly¬ 
sis came to him. The bed creaked, but he remained 
flat on his back! And then it dawned on him that 
the reason he couldn’t move was because he was 
tied down! 

For a moment he was so relieved to discover 
that the fault was not with him that he didn’t 
realise his situation. It was only when he re¬ 
membered the time again that he understood. 
This was Joe Dobbins’ doing! Joe had tied him 
down to his bed, though how he had done it with¬ 
out awakening him Myron couldn’t imagine, and 
had himself gone to meet Eldredge! Surprise 
gave way to anger and mortification. What would 
Eldredge think of him? All Joe’s explanations 
would fail to convince Eldredge that Myron had 


128 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


not purposely stayed away. Of all the crazy, 
meddlesome fools in the world, Dobbins was the 
craziest! Wait until he found him! Wait until 

he told him what he thought of him! Wait- 

‘ But just then Myron realised that waiting was 
the one thing he couldn’t afford. The clock had 
ticked off two minutes of the precious time re¬ 
maining to him and the long hand was moving 
past the half-hour already. He studied his pre¬ 
dicament. Joe had, it appeared, used his own 
sheets and quilt and, probably, other things as 
well, and Myron was as securely fastened down 
as Gulliver by the Lilliputians! He could move 
each leg about an inch and each arm the same. 
By arching his back he could lift his body just 
off the bed: something, possibly a sheet, crossed 
his chest and was tied fast to the side rails. He 
squirmed until he was exhausted, and the only 
apparent result was to give himself the fraction 
of an inch more freedom. He subsided, panting, 
and his anger found room for grudging admira¬ 
tion of Joe’s work. How that idiot had managed 
to swathe and bind him as he had done without 
waking him up was both a marvel and a mystery! 

‘‘Gee,” muttered Myron, “I knew I was a sound 
sleeper, but-” 

Words failed him. Presently, despairing of 


MYEON MISSES AN ENGAGEMENT 129 


success, he tried to free his right hand. Some¬ 
thing that felt like a strap—^lie discovered after¬ 
wards that it was one of his neckties—was wound 
about the wrist, and his efforts were of no avail. 
The other hand was quite as securely tied. Tug¬ 
ging his feet against similar bonds was equally 
unprofitable. When the hands of the clock on the 
dresser indicated seventeen minutes to seven he 
gave up and tried to find consolation in ar¬ 
ranging the eloquent remarks he meant to de¬ 
liver to Joe Dobbins when that offensive youth 
returned. 

Meanwhile, history was in the making on the 
trampled field of battle. 

At a few minutes before the half-hour after 
six, a large, wide-shouldered youth attired in a 
pair of old trousers, a faded brown sweater that 
lacked part of one sleeve and a cloth cap of a 
violent green-and-brown plaid might have been 
seen ambling leisurely across the campus in the 
direction of the West Gate. In fact, he was seen, 
for from an open window on the front of Leonard 
Hall a pyjama-clad boy thrust his head forth and 
hailed softly. 

‘‘Hi, Joe! Joe Dobbins!’’ he called. 

Joe paused and searched the front of the build¬ 
ing until a spot of pale lavender against the ex- 


130 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

pause of sunlit brick supplied the clue. Then: 
“Hello, Keith,he answered. “CanT you 
sleep r’ 

Leighton Keith chuckled. “Where are you 
going r’ he asked. 

“Just for a stroll,’^ replied Joe carelessly. 

“Wait a minute and I’ll come along.” 

Joe shook his head. “Got a date, Keith, with 
a guy named Eldredge.” 

Keith nodded and waved, but, after Joe had 
passed from sight around the corner of the build¬ 
ing, he pursed his lips thoughtfully and stared 
out into the early morning world. Gradually a 
smile curved his mouth. “Paul Eldredge,” he 
murmured. “Guess we’ll look into this.” He 
donned a dressing-gown and passed into the cor¬ 
ridor and along it until he reached a window that 
overlooked Linden Street. Joe was just sauntering 
through the gate, hands in pockets, nonchalance 
expressed in every motion. But Keith noted with 
satisfaction that he turned to the right into Apple 
Street and presently crossed that thoroughfare 
and disappeared into the lane that led toward 
the abandoned brickyard. Keith whistled ex¬ 
pressively if subduedly and went quickly back to 
his room and aroused Harry Cater by the simple 
method of pulling the clothes from him. ‘ ‘ Katie, ’ ’ 


MYRON MISSES AN ENGAGEMENT 131 


as he was called, groaned, clutched ineffectually 
for the bedding and opened one eye. 

“Wake up, Katie,’’ said Keith. “Joe Dobbins 
has a scrap on with Eldredge at the brickyard. 
Come on! ” 

“Howjuno?” muttered Katie. 

“He just told me.” That was near enough the 
truth, Keith considered. Katie opened the other 
eye, stared around the room and slung one foot 
over the edge of the bed. “All right,” he said 
briskly. “Wait till I get a shower and I’ll be 
with you.” 

“Shower? Nothing doing!” Keith was piling 
rapidly into his clothes. “There isn’t time. This 
is something a little bit choice, old man, and we 
don’t want to miss it. Get a move on!” 


CHAPTER XII 


ELDEEDGE REJECTS A SUBSTITUTE 

Joe made his leisurely way along the lane, his 
feet rustling the leaves that littered the grassy 
path. There had been a frost during the night 
and in shaded places it still glistened. When he 
had left the lane and was making his way between 
the old tumbledown shed with its piles of crumbling 
bricks and one of the clay pits he saw that there 
was a skim of ice on the water below him. It was 
a morning that induced a fine feeling of well¬ 
being, that made the blood course quickly and 
would have put a song on Joe’s lips had he been 
able to sing a note. As it was, he whistled in¬ 
stead. 

Ahead of him was a smallish shed, perhaps at 
one time the office. Some rusted barrows and 
pieces of machinery lay about it. As it presented 
the only place of concealment in sight, Joe con¬ 
cluded that it was the place of appointment. 
Eldredge, however, had not arrived. Joe made 
sure of that by looking on all sides of the build¬ 
ing and peering into the interior through a pane- 
132 


ELDREDGE REJECTS xi SUBSTITUTE 133 

less window. So lie seated himself in the sun¬ 
light and philosophically waited. 

Some ten minutes passed and then he heard 
footsteps and presently around the corner ap¬ 
peared Paul Eldredge and Sam Rogers. Joe 
frowned. Eldredge shouldnT have brought a 
second fellow without telling Myron of his inten¬ 
tion. The newcomers stopped in surprise when 
they saw Joe, and after an instant Eldredge said: 
‘ ‘ Hello! Have you seen—Is Foster here I ’ ^ 

‘‘Hello,’’ replied Joe. “Foster? No, he isn’t 
coming. ’ ’ 

“Isn’t coming!” exclaimed Eldredge. Then he 
laughed. “What do you know about that? What 
did I tell you, Sam?” 

Rogers nodded. “I know. You said he 
wouldn’t.” 

“Fact is,” said Joe, “he can’t.” 

“Can’t, eh? I suppose he’s sick,” sneered 
Eldredge. 

Joe shook his head gently and pulled himself to 
his feet. “No, he ain’t sick, he’s—he’s confined 
to his bed.” He chuckled, much to the mystifica¬ 
tion of the others. Eldredge scowled. 

“What is this, a silly joke?” he demanded peev¬ 
ishly. 

“No, oh, no, it ain’t any joke,” answered Joe 


134 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


gravely. this way, Eldredge. Foster’s no 

scrapper. Doesn’t know the first thing about it. 
Of course you didn’t know that when you ar¬ 
ranged this party. You wanted a nice little fight. 
Foster couldn’t give it to you. Wliy, he doesn’t 
know how to even block. You wouldn’t have had 
any sport at all. It would have been all over in 
a wag of a duck’s taiL I told him that, but he 
wouldn’t see it. I said: ‘This guy Eldredge wants 
a scrap, kiddo. He doesn’t want to get up at that 
time of day just to see you topple over every time 
he reaches out. Give him a chance,’ I said. ‘You 
stay in bed and I’ll take the job off your hands.’ 
Course, I’m no professional, Eldredge, but I know 
enough to give you a bit of fun. But Foster 
wouldn’t see it. Insisted that he had to come 
himself.” 

“Say, for the love of Mike,” broke in Eldredge, 
“are you crazy?” 

“Me? No, I don’t believe so,” answered Joe 
mildly. “Anyway, I couldn’t get him to look at 
it right, and so this morning I just woke up a bit 
early and tied him up in bed.” He chuckled. 
“I’ll bet he’s spouting blue murder right now!” 

“That’s a likely yarn!” sneered Eldredge. 
“Tied up in bed! Yes, he is—^not! He got you 
to come and tell that story to save his face!” 


ELDREDGE REJECTS A SUBSTITUTE 135 


‘‘Well, I sort of came to save his face,’’ an¬ 
swered Joe genially, “but not just the way you 
mean: and he didn’t have anything to do with 
it. He’s tied right down to his bed this 
minute. ’ ’ 

“If he is,” said Rogers, “he helped do it.” 

‘ ‘No. ” Joe shook his head patiently. “ He was 
asleep. I’d like you guys to believe that. It al¬ 
ways sort of disgruntles me when folks don’t be¬ 
lieve what I tell ’em, and I’m likely to get real 
mad.” 

Rogers blinked. “Well—well, then there’s 
nothing doing, Paul,” he said very mildly. 

“Nothing doing?” echoed Joe in surprise. 
“What do you mean, nothing doing? Ain’t I 
here? Sure, there’s something doing. Him and 
me—I mean he and I are going to have a real good 
time.” 

“We are not,” replied Eldredge disgustedly. 
“It’s the plainest sort of a frame-up, Sam. I 
knew all along Foster didn’t have any sand. I 
told you he’d duck.” 

“Say, you must have got me wrong,” said Joe 
earnestly. “Foster wanted to come, but I 
wouldn’t let him. It wasn’t fair to him or you, 
kiddo. Don’t you see? He’d have got all messed 
up and you’d have been downright disappointed. 


136 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


ThaUs why I took it over. You and. me are about 
of a size and weight and 1^11 bet we can have a 
right good scrap.” 

don’t care to fight you,” said Eldredge dis¬ 
dainfully. “Why should 11 I don’t even know 
you!” 

“Well, I don’t know you, either,” replied Joe 
calmly. “So we’re all-square there, eh? Listen, 
Brother: if you’re holding back on my account, 
don’t do it. I don’t mind a scrap. Fact is, I’d 
be mighty disappointed if I didn’t have it, after 
coming away over here like this. And so would 
you, of course. You’re like me; get sort of low- 
spirited if you don’t have a little set-to now and 
then. Ain’t that right?” 

Eldredge was viewing Joe in mingled astonish¬ 
ment and uneasiness. This big, raw-boned chap 
didn’t look good to him as an opponent. His 
arms were discouragingly long and the shoulders 
hinted at a muscular development quite unusual. 
Also, there was a quiet gleam in the greenish-grey 
eyes that made Eldredge feel a bit creepy along 
his spine. He laughed nervously. 

“Don’t be a chump,” he begged. “Of course 
I’m not going to fight you. I had a row mth 
Foster, but if you say he doesn’t know how to 


ELDEEDGE EEJECTS A SUBSTITUTE 137 

figlit, why, all right. We’ll call it off. I don’t 
want to fight any fellow that’s no naatch for 
me-” 

^^That^s just what I told him,’’ said Joe de¬ 
lightedly. “I said, ‘That guy’s going to be tickled 
to death when I show up instead of you.’ ” 

“Come on,” said Eogers, tugging at his friend’s 
sleeve. 

“Of course,” went on Eldredge, “if Foster 
wants to go on with it later, I’m ready for him, 
but—but as far as I’m concerned I’m willing to 
call quits.” 

‘‘Atta boy!’’ said Joe approvingly. ‘‘Well, now 
that’s settled and you and me can go ahead.” 
Joe began to peel off his sweater. Eldredge 
frowned and shot an anxious look at Rogers. 

“I’ve told you I wouldn’t fight you,” he said, 
“and I won’t.” 

“Why not?” demanded Joe. “Ain’t I good 
enough for you? Trying to insult me, eh?” he 
scowled darkly. “Is that it?” 

“Of course not! I haven’t any row with you. 
Besides, it’s nearly time for chapel and I don’t 
intend to get in wrong at the Office just to please 
you!” 

‘ ‘ That don’t go, kiddo. I’ve offered to fight you 



138 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

and youVe insulted me by refusing. That’s 
enough. Now you pull that coat off and stand up 
here.” 

‘‘You’re craz^! I won’t be forced into a fight 
like this. You haven’t any right to-” 

Joe gave a howl. “Haven’t any rights, haven’t 
I! We’ll see. No guy can tell me I haven’t any 
rights and not fight! Now then, come on!” 

“I said you hadn’t any right to make me fight,” 
protested Eldredge. “You’re just-” 

“I heard you!” answered Joe ominously. 
“Don’t repeat it! It’s something no guy can say 
to me and not answer for! By jiminy, you’ve got 
a cheek! No rights, eh? Ain’t I a free-born 
American citizen?” Joe slung his sv/eater aside, 
slipped his suspenders dowm and knotted them 
about his waist and advanced on the embarrassed 
enemy. “What about the Declaration of Inde¬ 
pendence?” he demanded wrathfully. 

“You know well enough what I mean,” declared 
Eldredge somewhat shrilly. “I refuse to fight 
you! I haven’t-” 

“Insulted again!” roared Joe fearsomely. 
“Put up your fists!” 

Eldredge was backing away toward the corner 
of the shed, Rogers a good two yards in the lead. 
‘‘I won’t! I’ve told you! You can’t bully me 


ELDEEDGE EEJECTS A SUBSTITUTE 139 

into fighting when—when I’ve got nothing to fight 
about!” 

‘‘Call me a bully now, do youf” growled Joe in 
ominous calm. He cast an outraged look to the 
heavens. “Brother, you’ve gone the limit. Look 
out for yourself!” He swung his right arm up 
and out. The blow, had it connected, would have 
lifted Eldredge off his feet and deposited him 
yards away. But it was woefully short, suggest¬ 
ing that Joe was a poor judge of distance. Never¬ 
theless it so alarmed Eldredge that he trod on his 
friend’s toes in his hurried retreat, and a wail 
of pain and protest arose from Rogers, a wail 
that, mingling with peals of laughter that 
seemed to come from overhead, made a weird 
confusion of sound. The group on the ground 
abruptly paused in their careers and be- 
wilderedly searched the sky for that Jovian 
laughter. They hadn’t far to seek. Atop the shed 
roof, their convulsed countenances showing above 
the peak, were stretched Leighton Keith and 
Harry Cater. 

Joe, after a surprised recognition, grinned and 
unknotted his suspenders. Eldredge grew red 
where he had been inclined to pallor and looked 
unutterably foolish. Rogers smiled in a sickly 
fashion and dug embarrassed hands into his 


140 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


pockets. On the roof the unsuspected guests con¬ 
quered their laughter, and Keith said to Joe: 

Sorry if we—spoiled your—fun—Dobbins, but 
we couldn’t—hold in any longer!” 

‘‘Well, I didn’t know I was amusing an audi¬ 
ence,” replied Joe, “but it don’t matter. He 
picked up his sweater as Keith and Cater slid 
to the edge and dropped over. “Guess we’ll have 
to postpone this, Eldredge,” he continued. “Too 
many folks around, eh? I’ll fix another date with 
you.” 

Katie chuckled. “I fancy Eldredge is satis¬ 
fied,” he said. “Eh, Paul?” 

Eldredge glowered. “I didn’t have any 
quarrel with him,” he muttered. “He—he’s 
crazy!” 

Katie and Keith seemed to find this most amus¬ 
ing, but after a moment of laughter Keith re¬ 
covered his gravity and said: “I guess you can 
be trusted to keep this business quiet, Eldredge. 
How about you, Rogers?” Rogers nodded, his 
countenance expressing a relief equal to 
Eldredge’s. “Good. I know Dobbins won’t talk, 
and neither will we. So there’s no reason why the 
thing should get out. In a way, it’s a pity to keep 
it to ourselves, for the fellows would certainly 
enjoy it, but some jokes are too good to be told. 


ELDEEDGE EEJECTS A SUBSTITUTE 141 

If you want to lead a happy life hereafter, 
Eldredge, you’d better keep mum! And, by the 
way, if I ever hear of you scrapping any more 
I’ll be tempted to tell what happened this morn¬ 
ing. You’re much too blood-thirsty, Eldredge, 
you really are. Restrain yourself, my boy, re¬ 
strain yourself.” Eldredge muttered something 
as he moved away. ‘‘ What was that?’’ asked Keith 
sharply. “Did I hear a bad word?” 

“No,” replied Eldredge aggrievedly, “you 
didn’t. I said, ‘All right’ ” 

“Hm: I’ll try to believe you: but you’d better 
beat it before I begin to have doubts!” 

Rogers had already melted around the comer 
of the shed and Eldredge, pausing only long 
enough to send a last vindictive glance at Joe, 
followed. Alone, the three looked at each other 
in amused silence. Then Katie helped Joe into 
his sweater and together they turned toward 
school. It was only when the forms of Eldredge 
and Rogers were seen hurrying into the lane that 
Keith’s risibilities again got the better of him 
and he began to chuckle. Whereupon Joe and 
Katie joined. 

It was getting dangerously close to chapel time 
when Myron, smouldering with anger, heard the 
study door open and the heavy tread of Joe ap« 


142 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


proaching. When the latter appeared Myron was 
more than ready for him. 

‘‘Yon—you-’’ he stammered, “you big— 

big-” 

It was maddening! His nicely arranged flow 
of invective, his long list of insulting adjectives 
were gone! He couldn’t get his tongue around a 
single word that satisfied his requirements. All 
he could do was glare and sputter and strain at 
his bonds. And Joe stood at the foot of the bed 
and viewed him mildly and patiently. 

“You let me loose!” cried Myron. “You untie 
me this minute! You’ll see what’ll happen to 
you, you big—big hooh!^^ Myron groaned at the 
utter inadequacy of that appellation and gave up 
the attempt to do justice to his feelings. Joe 
blinked. 

“Got to have your promise not to start any 
ructions first,” he announced. “It’s pretty near 
chapel time, Foster, and if you try scrapping with 
me you’ll be late. So’ll I. Better dress quietly 
and let me explain things.” 

“I’m going to punch your ugly face!” fumed 
Myron. “I don’t care a hang who’s late to what! 
You can’t spring your silly tricks on me like this, 
Dobbins! You can’t-’ ’ 


ELDEEDGE EEJECTS A SUBSTITUTE 143 

‘‘Then I’ll have to let you stay where you are,’’ 
said Joe regretfully. 

“You let me up!” 

“Promise not to start anything?” 

“No!” 

“Then you don’t get up. You stay right here 
until I tell you all about it.” Joe seated himself 
at the foot of the bed and glanced at the clock 
on the chitfonier. “You see, Foster, it was like 
this.” 

“I don’t want to hear it! I want to get up!” 

“Then give me your word to behave.” 

Myron studied Joe’s unperturbed face, hesi¬ 
tated and gave in. “All right,” he growled. 
“But I’ll—I’ll get even with you yet.” 

“Sure! Now then we’ll do some hustling.” 
For two minutes Joe was very busy with knots. 
“Hope these things didn’t hurt,” he said apolo¬ 
getically. “I tried to fix ’em so you’d be com¬ 
fortable.” 

“Thanks, I’m sure,” said Myron in deep sar¬ 
casm. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate 
your thoughtfulness!” 

Joe grinned. “Well, anyway, I didn’t wake you 
up, kiddo, did I! Didn’t do you out of any sleep, 
eh! Say, the Sleeping Quince, or whatever the 


144 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


guy in the fairy story was called, hasn’t a thing 
on you, Foster. You’re the soundest little slum- 
berer that ever pounded an ear! There you are. 
Now, then, slip into some duds and let’s beat it. 
We’ve just got time.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


MYEON CHANGES HIS MIND 

The fact that the incident would never become 
known and make him look ridiculous made it much 
easier for Myron to forgive Joe for the trick. 
And the latter’s account of the meeting with 
Eldredge—Myron got it piecemeal before and 
after chapel—was so funny that he had to smile 
more than once in spite of his determination to 
be haughty and unrelenting. In the end he said 
grudgingly: ‘‘We-ell, I suppose you meant it all 
right, Dobbins, but it wasn’t fair. Now was it?” 
And Dobbins obligingly shook his head very 
soberly and allowed that it wasn’t. In such fash¬ 
ion amity was restored and peace prevailed again. 

That afternoon, encountering Harry Cater on 
the field before practice, Myron regarded that 
youth keenly, looking for signs of amusement and 
ready to resent them. But Katie’s countenance 
suggested no secret diversion. Perhaps he re¬ 
garded Myron with just a fraction more interest 
than usual, but it was quite respectful interest. 
There was a big cut in the football candidates 
146 


146 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

that afternoon and when Coach Driscoll had 
sheathed his knife again their number had been 
reduced to sixty-odd. Myron survived, as he de¬ 
served to, and so, naturally, did Joe. Joe was al¬ 
ready being talked about and more than once 
had heard his playing discussed and praised. 
Good linemen are always in demand, and this year, 
at Parkinson, they were more than ever welcome, 
for graduation had deprived the eleven of several 
stars since last fall. 

The squads were reduced to four now, and 
Myron had slipped into a half-back position on the 
third. There was nothing certain about that posi¬ 
tion. Some days he went into practice at right 
half and some days at left, and sometimes he sat 
on the bench most of the time when scrimmaging 
began. He was rather resentful because his work 
wasn’t getting recognition. As a matter of fact, 
however, he was showing up no more cleverly than 
half a dozen other candidates for the positions. 
He handled the ball well, remembered signals, ran 
hard and fast, dodged fairly and caught punts 
nicely. So did Meldrum, Brown, Brounker, 
Vance, Robbins and one or two more. Myron’s 
mistake was in supposing that, because none 
praised him, his work wasn’t appreciated. He 
had an idea that neither coach nor captain really 


MYRON CHANGES HIS MIND 147 

knew of his existence, when, as a matter of fact, 
he was more than once under discussion during 
the nightly conferences in Mr. DriscolPs quarters. 

“Promising,’* was the coach’s comment one eve¬ 
ning when the subject of half-backs was before the 
meeting. “Plays a nice, clean-cut game. Lacks 
judgment, though.’’ 

“Handles punts well,” said Captain Mellen. 
“Made a corking catch yesterday. Remember 
when Kearns punted down to the twenty yards! 
That was a peach of a punt, by the way: all of 
fifty, wasn’t it, Ken!” 

“Forty-six,” answered Farnsworth. 

“That all! Anyway, this Foster chap made a 
heady catch, with two ends almost on him and the 
ball nearly over his head. He’ll round out nicely 
for next year, I guess.” 

It was Myron’s misfortune that he had elected 
to try for a half-back position at a time when 
there was much excellent half-back material on 
hand. Probably he didn’t realise the fact, for he 
began to get more disgruntled by the end of that 
week and secretly accused Mr. Driscoll and Jud 
Mellen of “playing favourites.” Not altogether 
secretly, either, for he once aired his suspicions 
for Joe’s benefit. “There’s no chance for a chap 
here unless he’s known,” he said bitterly. 


148 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘Maybe if I stay here two or three years longer 
Driscoll will discover that I^m alive. As it is, 
if it wasn’t for Farnsworth keeping tabs on the 
fellows, I could cut practice and no one would 
ever know it.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” answered Joe judicially. 
“It looks to me like you were getting the same 
treatment the rest of ’em are getting. Some day 
you’ll show ’em what you can do and they’ll wake 
up. I guess your trouble is that you’re buck¬ 
ing against a lot of good backs. Take fellows like 
Brown and Meldrum and Vance, now. They’re 
good. You’e got to hand it to them, kiddo. Cork¬ 
ing halves, all of them. Hard to beat. But that 
don’t mean that you can’t beat ’em. Buckle down 
and go hard, Foster. The season’s young yet.” 

“I’m not anxious enough,” answered Myron, 
“to kill myself. I dare say I can get along mth- 
out playing on the team this year. And next year 
I’ll go somewhere where they give a fellow a fair 
chance, by George!” 

“Well, if that’s your idea you won’t get far,” 
said Joe drily. “If you don’t care yourself no 
one’s going to care for you. A guy’s got to hustle 
and be in earnest to get anywhere in this world. 
I know that!’* 

“You fell into it pretty soft,” answered Myron, 


MYRON CHANGES HIS MIND 149 

with a laugh that sounded none too agreeable. 
“ There nothing like getting in with the right 
crowd, ehr’ 

Joe regarded him with a frown, started to 
speak, thought better of it and merely grunted. 
But after a moment he said dispassionately: 
‘‘DonT be a sore-head, Foster. It don’t get you 
anything but hard looks.” 

^‘I’m no sore-head,” laughed the other care¬ 
lessly. “Gee, it doesn’t mean anything in my 
young life to play with their old football team. 
I’ve captained a better team than this school will 
ever turn out!” 

“If I was you,” replied Joe earnestly, “I’d for¬ 
get about being captain of that team, kiddo, and 
see if I couldn’t make a first-class private of my¬ 
self.” 

Myron flushed. “It’s all well enough for you to 
—to give advice and say cute things, Dobbins, but 
you’ve made yourself solid with the fellows who 
have the say in football matters and you’re pretty 
sure of a place. I haven’t, and I don’t intend to. 
If Mellen and Cater and some of those fellows 
think I’m going to kow-tow to them, they’re might¬ 
ily mistaken.” 

“Meaning I got my chance by—w^hat do you 
call it?—cultivating those fellows?” asked Joe. 


150 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘You made that crack before and I let it pass, 
Foster, but it donT go this time. If I’m playing 
on the second squad it’s because I got out there 
and worked like a horse, and you know it, 
Brother!” 

Myron dropped his eyes and a long moment of 
silence followed. Then he said: “I was a rotter, 
Dobbins. I’m sorry. I guess I am a sore-head, 
like you said. I guess—I guess I’ll just quit and 
have done with it.” 

Joe laughed. “All right, kiddo! We’ll start 
fresh. But why don’t you cut out the grouching 
and just play the game? What’s it to you if you 
don’t get into the lime-light? Ain’t it something 
to do what you’re put at and do it well? Say, 
there’s about sixty guys out there every after¬ 
noon, ain’t there? Well, how many of them do 
you suppose will get places on the first team? 
Not more than twenty-six, probably. And about 
twenty more will go into the scrub team. And 
the o-thers will beat it and try again next year, 
likely. Every one can’t be a hero, Foster. Some 
of us have got to lug water! ’ ’ 

“There’s no fun in lugging water, though,” 
Myron objected. 

“Who says so? There’s fun in doing anything 
if you set out to like it, kiddo. The guys who 


MYRON CHANGES HIS MIND 151 

miss the fun are those who get it into their heads 
that the job isn’t good enough for ’em, or that 
some one’s imposing on ’em. What sort of a 
fellow would Merriman be if he got that dope 
to working in his bean? He’s lugging water, all 
right, believe me! Living on a couple of dollars 
a week and working about sixteen hours a day! 
But he gets fun out of it, don’t he? He’s about 
the happiest guy around these parts, ain’t he? 
Mind you, Foster, I ain’t saying that a fellow’s 
got to be satisfied with just lugging water. He 
oughtn’t to be. He ought to be thinking about the 
time when he can chuck the pail and do something 
better. But while he is lugging water he wants to 
do it well and whistle at it!” 

*‘Ali right,” laughed Myron, good temper re¬ 
stored, ‘H’ll keep on with the pail a while longer. 
Say, Dobbins, you ought to prepare for the minis¬ 
try or the lecture platform. You’re going to waste 
yourself shovelling spruce gum!” 

Joe smiled. ‘H’m not going to shovel ^spruce 
gum, kiddo. I’m going to be a lawyer. How’s 
that hit you?” 

‘‘If I’m ever arrested for murder I’ll certainly 
send for you!” answered Myron emphatically. 

Two daj^s later Myron received notice that his 
overdue furniture had arrived. For some reason 


152 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


he was not nearly so keen about it as he had been 
a week or more ago. And when, accompanied by 
Joe—he had felt the need of a practical mind in 
the matter of getting the things off the car and 
up to the dormitory and had begged Joe’s as¬ 
sistance—he saw how many pieces of furniture 
there were he was, to use his own word, flabber¬ 
gasted. For his part, Joe just stared and blinked. 
Every piece was carefully and enormously crated, 
and the staring address on each was a horrible 
challenge. For the things were much larger than 
he remembered them and when he thought of the 
limited area of Number 17 Sohmer he gasped. 
The services of the Warne Warehouse Company 
had been called on, and three husky men were soon 
emptying the car while Myron and Joe sat on a 
baggage truck and looked on. Myron felt some¬ 
what apologetic and shot occasional inquiring 
glances at his companion. But Joe was silent and 
seemingly unmoved after the first survey. Myron 
ventured at last: 

“I don’t see where all the stuff is going, do 
you?” 

Joe shook his head. ‘^No, I don’t. Maybe 
they’ll let you put about half of it in the corridor.” 

‘Mt’s nothing to joke about,” Myron grumbled. 
*‘We won’t be able to move without barking our 


MYRON CHANGES HIS MIND 153 

shins. I’d like to know how big mother thinks 
those rooms are!” 

“I’m not worrying about my shins,” said Joe 
placidly, adding when Myron looked a question: 
“I won’t be there, you know.” 

“ Oh! ” said the other. Silencer again prevailed. 
The trucks trundled from box-car to platform and 
a nearby engine let off steam with disconcerting 
suddenness. Finally: “I shouldn’t think you’d 
want to live in that room if it’s like you say it is,” 
observed Myron. “Only one window and—and 
all.” 

“Oh, it ain’t so worse. Merriman wants me to 
go over and take half his place, but that part of 
town’s pretty fierce.” 

“Great Scott! Why, that’s an awful hole he’s 
in!” 

“Well, with something more in it, it wouldn’t 
be bad.” 

“I don’t see-” Myron paused and was busy 

for a moment detaching a splinter from beside 
him. “I don’t see,’’ he continued, ‘‘why you want 
to move anyhow.” 

Joe turned slowly and observed him in mild 
surprise. “Well, considering that you invited me 
to,” he answered, “that’s a funny crack to make.” 

“Maybe they wouldn’t let me have the rooms 



154 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


by myself, anyhow,’’ said Myron. “And I’d 
rather have you with me than—than some fellow 
I didn’t know at all.” 

“Thanks, but I guess I’d better light out. I’m 
sort of backwoodsy for you, Foster. Maybe the 
next guy will be more your style, see? Be¬ 
sides-’ ’ 

“Besides what?” demanded Myron with a 
frown. 

Joe chuckled and nodded toward the furniture. 
“I couldn’t live up to that,” he said. 

Myron’s gaze followed his companion’s and he 
viewed the crated monstrosities distastefully. “I 
don’t see why you need to keep rubbing it in 
about my—my ‘style,’ ” he said crossly. “Just 
because I have more than two suits of clothes you 
needn’t always try to make out that I’m a— 
a-” 

“I don’t,” answered Joe calmly. “Besides, 
I’ve got four suits myself now: and an extra pair 
of trousers!” 

“Then—then it’s just that stuff?” asked 
Myron, waving toward the furniture. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe. You see, kiddo— 
I mean Foster-” 

“Oh, dry up,” muttered Myron. 

“You see, I’ve been used to simple things. 



MYRON CHANGES HIS MIND 155 

The old man and me—I—me—whatever it is— 
lived pretty plain for a long time. Lately weVe 
stayed in a hotel in Portland most of the time. 
I ain’t used to chiffoniers and enamelled tables 
and all those gimcracks. I’d feel sort of—of low 
in my mind if I had to live in a place all dolled 
lip with ribbons and lace and mirrors and things.” 

‘‘There aren’t any ribbons and-” 

“Well, you get my idea,” continued Joe un- 
troubledly. “Me, I sort of feel freer and more 
contented in a log-cabin. I suppose it’s all what 
you’re used to, eh?” 

Myron made no reply for a minute. They were 
loading the big moving-van now and he watched 
them morosely. He half wished they’d drop that 
grey-enamelled bookcase over the side. At last 
he said desperately: “Look here, Joe! If I dump 
all that truck into the warehouse will you stay?” 

It was the first time he had ever called Joe by 
his first name and that youth looked almost 
startled. “Why—why, you don’t want to do 
that!” he stammered. 

“ Yes, I do, ’ ’ replied Myron doggedly. ‘ ‘ That’s 
just what I do want. It was a mistake, sending it. 
I sort of felt so when mother suggested it, but she 
set her heart on it, you know: thought I’d be 
more comfortable and all if I had my own things. 


156 


FULL-BACK POSTER 


But they’d look awfully silly, all those light grey 
tables and chairs and bookcases, and I don’t want 
them there. So—so I’m going to let these folks 
store them until spring. There’s no use hurting 
mother’s feelings, and I’ll just let her think that 
I’m using them; unless she asks me. When 
spring comes I’ll ship them back. And you’ll stay 
where you are, won’t you?” 

“Gosh! Say, this is so sudden, kiddoI And it 
sure seems an awful shame to hide all those cork¬ 
ing things. But—why, if you really don’t want 
them and—and you don’t mind me being sort of 
rough and—and all that. I’ll stick around.” 

“Honest, Joe?” 

“Sure, kiddo!” 

Myron drew a long breath of relief and turned 
to the man in charge of the job. “I’ve changed 
my mind,” he said. “Take those things to the 
warehouse, will you? And tell them I’ll be around 
tomorrow and fix things up.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


‘‘CHAS’’ 

Only one thing troubled Joe, which was that he 
couldn’t have Zephaniah with him. Faculty 
strongly disapproved of dogs, even very young 
and very small dogs, in the dormitories. So he 
made arrangements with a good-hearted stable¬ 
man to look after the puppy and himself rigged 
up a home for it in an unused stall behind a litter 
of brooms and old harness and buckets. Puppy 
biscuit, which Merriman sternly decreed was to 
be its only food, was laid in lavishly, a china drink¬ 
ing bowl was supplied and Zephaniah, very un¬ 
happy at parting from his brothers and sisters 
and mother, was duly installed. The pun is not 
mine, but Myron’s. Joe visited the stable at least 
once a day and was to be seen stalking along the 
streets accompanied by a silly, frisking little atom 
at the end of a magnificent leather leash. Once 
away from the busy thoroughfares, the puppy 
was set free and had a glorious time. Frequently 
Myron went along on these excursions and the two 
boys often laughed themselves sick over the ridicu- 
157 


158 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


lous antics of Zephaniah Q. Dobbins. Several 
times Merriman also joined them and took along 
Tess and her two remaining offspring, and at 
such times life was chock full of excitement and 
merriment. The weather was wmnderful that 
autumn and those strolls about the outskirts of 
the town were events that remained in Myron’s 
memory long afterwards. They led to an ever- 
increasing intimacy between the three boys and 
Myron began to find existence at Parkinson really 
enjoyable. No one could fail to like Joe Dobbins 
or to admire his big-heartedness and sturdy 
honesty of purpose and deed, and Myron least of 
all. He saw now the kindness that had underlaid 
the indignity Joe had practised on him when he 
had been forcibly kept from meeting Paul 
Eldredge, and was grateful. He saw many other 
thoughtful and kindly acts as well. Joe’s rough 
ways, or ways that had seemed rough at first, were 
now only things to smile at. Myron was learning 
that there were many things less to be desired in 
a friend and room-mate than uncouthness. New 
clothes, too, had made a difference in Joe. Under 
Myron’s guiding hand he had purchased two plain 
but well-fitting suits—as well as the extra pair of 
trousers that Myron had advised and that Joe was 
now so proud of—and, in a way, he was living 


^‘CHAS’» 


159 


up to those suits. He had been good-naturedly 
guyed by many of his friends and acquaintances, 
of which he had dozens a week after the beginning 
of school, for the change v/rought in his appear¬ 
ance had been well-nigh startling, but he hadn^t 
minded a bit: it took more than that to upset 
Joe’s equanimity. It was about the time that he 
first appeared in classroom in his new clothes 
that some fellow fell on the quite obvious nick¬ 
name of ‘‘Whoa,” to w^hicli Joe was already ac¬ 
customed, and from that time on he was ‘‘Whoa” 
Dobbins to the whole school. Only Myron and 
Andrew" Merriman stuck to ‘‘Joe.” 

Merriman required more knowing than Joe Dob¬ 
bins. Although Myron had liked him at first ac¬ 
quaintance and grew to like him more as time 
went on, he never felt that he knew him as 
thoroughly as he knew the other. “Merry 
Andrew” at first meeting seemed perfectly under¬ 
standable. At the second meeting you realised 
that most of him w"as below" the surface. At sub¬ 
sequent meetings you despaired of ever knowing 
him thoroughly. He was the happiest, cheerful- 
est fellow Myron had ever encountered, and no 
one w"ould have suspected that there was such a 
thing as a care in his life. And perhaps there 
w"eren’t many, either, for a care doesnH become 


160 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


a care until you let it, and Merriman’s policy was 
not to let it. Of friends, at least close friends, 
beyond Joe and Andrew, Myron had none so far. 
He knew various fellows, most of them football 
chaps, but only casually. He didn’t make friends 
easily. It is only fair to acknowledge that there 
was something in Myron’s attitude, although he 
didn’t realise it, that warned fellows away. Popu¬ 
larity such as Joe might attain would never fall 
to his share. 

So a fortnight passed and Parkinson played her 
second football game and began to find her stride. 
Cumner High School proved less of an adversary 
than expected and went down to defeat, 12 to 0. 
Myron didn’t get into action: didn’t expect to, 
for that matter: and neither did Joe. Joe, how¬ 
ever, expected to, and was a little disappointed 
and decidedly restive while he and Myron ^vatched 
from the bench. Inaction didn’t suit Joe a bit. 
Garrison, who had played the position last season 
on the scrub eleven, stayed in at right guard until 
the last quarter and then Mills, a recent dis¬ 
covery of Coach Driscoll’s, was given a chance. 
Mills, a big, yellow-haired infant of seventeen, 
proved willing and hard-working, but he was 
woefully inexperienced, and only the fact that 
Cumner had already shot her bolt and was playing 


161 

a strictly defensive game kept him in until the 
final whistle. 

Joe’s hero on the team was Leighton Keith, who 
played right tackle. Joe expatiated for whole 
minutes at a time on Keith’s work and rather 
bored Myron. “Honest, Joe,” he protested, “I 
think he plays perfectly good ball and all that, but 
I don’t see where he has anything on Mellen, or 
even Flay. ” 

Joe shook his head. “You aren’t watching him, 
Myron. You’ve got to know the position, too. 
I’ve played tackle, kiddo, I know what a guy’s 
up against. I’ll tell you about Keith and Mellen. 
Mellen’s a fair, average tackle, a heap better on 
attack than defence, I guess, but Keith’s more 
than that. He—look here, it’s like this. Know 
those dollar Hurnips’^ Well, they keep right 
good time, don’t they?” 

“Some of them,” agreed Myron. 

“Most of them. Brother. Well, Mellen’s like a 
dollar watch. Looks good outside and works all 
right inside. Dependable and all that. All right! 
Now did you ever cast your eye over a nice 
hundred and fifty dollar watch all dotted over in¬ 
side with jewels and all glisteny with little wheels 
and dudads? Sure! That’s Keith. He works 
just like the innards of that watch, kiddo. Every 


162 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

movers exact. He never misses a tick. He’s 
smooth-running and guaranteed. He—he’s an 
artist! I’d just as lief see Keith play tackle as 
see old Josh Reynolds paint one of his million- 
dollar portraits.” 

‘‘Reynolds is dead,” laughed Myron. 

“All the more reason then,” replied Joe calmly. 
“Keith isn’t!” 

“All right,” said Myron, “you cheer for Keith. 
To my mind the best player in that brown bunch 
is Cater.” 

“Yeah, he’s good, too,” owned Joe. “1 call 
him a nice little quarter. Nice fellow, too, Cater. 
So’s Steve Kearns. Know him!” 

“Playing full-back! No, only to nod to. I 
don’t think he’s as good a full-back as Williams, 
though.” 

“Both of them will stand improving,” said Joe 
drily. “Gee, I wish Driscoll would let me in on 
this! ’ ’ 

But, as has been said, he didn’t, and when the . 
game was over Joe and Myron trotted back to the 
gymnasium with a host of others equally un¬ 
fortunate. After showers and a return to citizen’s 
clothing they took Zephaniah Q. Dobbins for a 
walk. Or, it would be more exact to say, a romp. 

Jhe Latin coaching ended the last of the next 




163 


week, by which time Andrew Merriman declared 
Myron up with the class. Myron wasn^t so certain 
of it and would have continued the tutoring if 
Andrew hadn^t refused. “You’re discharged,” 
said Andrew. “You know about as much as 
Old Addie himself now, and a lot more than I. 
All you have got to do is study.” 

“Is that all?” asked Myron ironically. “It 
isn’t anything if you say it quick, is it?” 

But Andrew proved right about it, and Myron 
found that as much work applied to Latin as to 
other studies kept him on good terms with Old 
Addie. 

There was one thorn in Myron’s side at this 
time, and its name was-Charles Cummins. Cum¬ 
mins was a riddle to Myron. Ever since the time 
he had spent that unpleasant half-hour in Cum¬ 
mins’ awkward squad the freckle-faced, shock¬ 
haired giant had never let an opportunity pass to 
accost him. There was no harm in that, of course; 
the trouble was that Cummins always made him¬ 
self so disagreeable! It seemed to Myron that the 
chap deliberately sought him out in order to rile 
him. And it wasn’t so much what Cummins said 
as the way he said it. It got so that Myron only 
had to see the other approaching to feel huffy. 
Long before Cummins got within speaking dis- 


164 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


tance Myron had his back up, and Cummins, 
knowing it, seemed to take delight in it. 

Cummins was generally known as “Chas,’^ 
from his habit of signing himself “Chas. L. Cum¬ 
mins.’’ He declared that Charles was far too 
long to spell out. He played left guard and 
played it well if erratically. In a way, he was 
difficult to get along with, for he considered him¬ 
self a law unto himself, and it was no unusual 
thing for him to veto a coach’s instructions, which, 
up to a certain point, the coach stood for. The 
others were at outs with him half the time, but 
liked him through all. Oddly enough, even the 
timidest youngster he ever bullied and brow-beat 
in practice was strong for him afterwards. It was 
no secret that he was holding his position on the 
first team by little more than an eyelash, for 
Brodhead was hot on his trail and Coach Driscoll 
had put up with more of Cummins’ calm insur¬ 
rection than was agreeable to him. In appear¬ 
ance ^‘Chas” was a broad, heavily-built giant 
with much red-brown hair that never was known 
to lie straight, eyes that nearly matched the hair 
and a round, freckled face that was seldom neu¬ 
tral. It was either scowling savagely or grinning 
broadly. For his part, Myron preferred Cum¬ 
mins’ scowls to his smiles, for the smiles gener- 




165 


ally held mischief. Usually the two encountered 
each other only on the playfield in the afternoon, 
but one morning a few days after the Cumner 
game Myron, walking back to the room after a 
chemistry class, sighted Cummins coming out of 
Goss Hall. 

‘‘Gee, there’s that pest!” he muttered, and, 
contrary to school regulations, started on a short 
cut across the grass in the hope of avoiding him. 
But it was not to be. Cummins had sighted his 
prey. 

“0 Foster!” he called. 

Myron nodded and kept on. 

“Tarry, I prithee! I wouldst a word with thee, 
fair youth!” 

“ Go to thunder! ’ ’ murmured Myron. But Cum¬ 
mins headed him off without difficulty. 

“S’pose you know;” he said, “that we can both 
be shot at sunrise for walking cross-lots like this. 
Where do you room?” 

“Sohmer,” answered Myron briefly. 

“Ho, with the swells, eh? Lead on, Reginald! 
I would visit thy fair abode in yon palace!” 

“Not receiving today, thanks,” said Myron. 
“IVe got some work to do.” 

“Work? Didn’t suppose you silk-stocking 
bunch in Sohmer ever had to work! Thought 


166 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


you had slaves to do that sort of thing. How 
little one half the school knows how t’other half 
lives! To think of you soiling your lily-white 
hands and getting calloused with labour! What 
sort of work are you going to do ? Clip coupons I ’ ’ 

‘‘Oh, dry up!” exploded Myron. “I’m sick 
to death of your chatter! And I’m sick of being 
guyed all the time, too! Lay off, can’t you?” 

To his surprise, “Chas” chuckled and thumped 
him on the back. “A-a-ay!” he applauded. 
“That’s the stuff, old chap! I was beginning to 
think you didn’t have any pep in you. There’s 
always hope for a fellow who can get mad!” 

“That isn’t hard when you’re around,” an¬ 
swered Myron, unappeased. “Don’t bang me on 
the back, either. I don’t like it.” 

“All right,” answered Chas, sobering. “I’ll 
behave. Mind if I come up for a few minutes?” 

Myron looked at him suspiciously, but for once 
Cummins was neither scowling nor grinning. “I 
guess not,” he answered ungraciously. 

“Fine! But don’t embarrass me with your 
welcome, old chap,” chuckled Chas as they 
mounted the steps. “Some dive this, isn’t it? 
Don’t believe I ever hoped to get in here.” Joe 
was not in and when Chas had looked around the 
study—a trifle disappointedly, Myron thought— 


167 

and seen the \dew from the window he seated him¬ 
self on the window-seat, took one knee into his 
hands and viewed his host reflectively. Myron, at 
the table, fussed with his books and fumed in¬ 
wardly and wished Cummins would get out. Fi¬ 
nally the latter said: ‘‘Foster, you and I ought 
to be great pals.’^ 

Myron looked every bit of the astonishment he 
felt, and his guest chuckled again. “Because 
we’re as unlike as three peas, and the only things 
that can be more unlike than three peas is four 
peas. You’ve got coin and I’m the poor but 
proud scion of a fine old chap who made his living 
laying bricks. You’re a swell and I’m a—well, 
I’m not. You’re a sort of touch-me-not and I’d 
make friends with any one. Probably we don’t 
think alike on any two subjects under the sun. 
So we ought to hit it off great. Get the ideal” 

“I’m afraid I don’t,” owned the other, inter¬ 
ested and puzzled. 

“It’s the old law of the attraction of opposites, 
or whatever it’s called. Now I took a shine to you 
right off”—Myron sniffed, but Chas only smiled 
and went on—“Oh, I don’t always hug a chap I 
take a fancy to. That’s not my way. I try ’em 
out first. I tried you out, Foster, old chap.” 

“Did you? Well, much obliged, but-” 


168 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


“You’d rather I minded my own business, you 
mean? That’s what I like about you, Foster, 
that stand-offishness. I like the way you sort of 
turn your nose up and look haughty. You see, 
I’m not like that. If a stranger says ‘Howdy’ 
to me I either say ‘Glad to know you’ or I biff 
him one and pass on. I couldn’t freeze him with 
a glance as you can to save my precious life.” 

“I didn’t know I was as bad as that,” said 
Myron, a trifle uncomfortable. “I don’t think I 
mean to be.” 

“Course you don’t. That’s the beauty of it. 
It comes natural to you, just like liking artichokes 
and olives. I’ll bet you anything you were eating 
olives when you were four, and I haven’t got to 
really like the pesky things yet!” 

“You talk a lot of nonsense,” said Myron, smil¬ 
ing in spite of himself. “Just what are you get¬ 
ting at!” 

“Well, I’m not after a loan, anyway,” laughed 
Chas. “I was telling you that I tried you out. 
So I did. ‘He looks like he was a nice sort under 
the shell,’ says I to me. ‘A terrapin isn’t awfully 
jolly and friendly when he sticks his head out at 
you and hisses, but they tell me that when you 
get under the shell he’s mighty good eating.’ So, 
thinks I-” 


‘^CHAS^’ 169 

^‘The idea being that I’ve got to be dead to be 
nice?” asked Myron drily. 

‘‘No, not a bit. The—the simile was unfortu¬ 
nate. No, but I thought I’d get a peek under the 
shell and see what you were really like. So I set 
out to make you mad.' If a fellow can’t get mad 
he’s no good. Anyway, he’s no good to me. And 
he’s no good for football. I was just about giving 
you up, old chap. You frowned and grumbled and 
sputtered once or twice and looked haughty as 
anything, but you wouldn’t get your dander up. 
Not until today.” 

“Well,” said Myron, “now that I have got mad, 
what’s the big idea?” 

“Why, now we can be pals,” answered Chas 
unhesitatingly. “How does that strike you?” 

“Why—why, I don’t know!” Myron faltered. 
“It sounds like some sort of a silly joke to me, 
Cummins.” 

“No joke at all.” Chas unclasped his hands 
and leaned back, his big, freckled face wreathed in 
smiles. “No hurry, though. Think it over. Any¬ 
way, there’s something more important just now. 
I’ve watched you on the field, Foster, ever since 
they dumped you on me that day. I’ve seen you 
play and I can tell you what I think of you, if 
you like.” 


170 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

It’s human to like flattery in moderation, and 
so Myron said ‘‘Go ahead,” and prepared to look 
modest. 

“I think you’re rotten,” said Chas. 

‘‘Wh-what?” gasped Myron. 

“Rotten, with a large capital R, Foster.” 

“Thanks!” 

“Don’t get huffy, old chap. I don’t say you 
can’t play good football. I think you can. But 
you’re not doing it now. If I didn’t think you 
could play the game according to the Old Masters 
I wouldn’t be talking about it to you. You play 
like a fellow who doesn’t care. You don’t try hard 
enough. You don’t deliver the goods. You’re 
soldiering. Ever see a man laying a shingle roof? 
Well, he could do the whole thing in a day, maybe, 
if he worked hard. But he belongs to the union 
and the union won’t let him lay more than just 
so many shingles. So he has to slow down. That’s 
like you. Say, what union do you belong to?” 

“I guess the trouble is that I don't belong,” 
said Myron. “I’m an outsider, and so I don’t 
get a chance.” 

‘ ‘ Tell that to the Marines! Look here, old chap, 
you can make a real football player of yourself 
if you want to. I’ve watched you and I know. 
I’ve seen what you could have done lots of times 


‘‘CHAS’’ 171 

when you didn’t do it. Now, just what is the 
row?” 

So Myron told him his version of it and Chas 
listened silently and even sympathetically. But 
at the end he shook his head. “You’re all wrong, 
Foster,” he said. “I’ve been here two years now 
and I know how things go. The trouble with you, 
I guess, is that you came here with the idea that 
folks were going to fall all over themselves to 
shake hands with you and pull you into the foot¬ 
ball team. Isn’t that pretty near so?” 

It was, and Myron for the first time realised it, 
but he couldn’t quite get himself to acknowledge 
it to Cummins. He tried to look hurt and made no 
answer. 

“Sure!” said Chas. “And when the coach and 
the captain didn’t give a dinner in your honour 
and ask you to accept a place-on the team and give 
them the benefit of your advice as to running 
same you got peeved. That’s just what I’d have 
done if I’d been you, you see, so I know. If it was 
me I’d have either gone to the coach and made a 
big kick and told him how good I was or else I’d 
have gone out and played so hard that they’d 
have either had to take me on or chuck me to 
save the lives of the others! But you, being 
Haughty Harold, just froze them with a glance 


172 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


—which same they didn’t happen to see—and went 
your way. And it’s a rotten way, too. Because it 
won’t get you anywhere. Driscoll won’t fall for 
you until you show something and you won’t show 
anything until Driscoll pats you on the back. Say, 
I’m talking a whole lot! What time is it? And 
you’ve got some digging to do! I ’ll beat it. Think 
over my words of wisdom, Foster, and drop 
around tonight and hear more. I’ve got a plan, 
old chap. I’m in 16 Goss; first floor, on the right. 
Bye-bye! ’ ’ 

And before Myron could agree or refuse the 
invitation Cummins had hurried to the door and 
was clattering downstairs. Myron went to the 
window and, in somewhat of a daze, watched Cum¬ 
mins emerge below and disappear under the trees. 
Then he sat himself down on the mndow-seat, 
plunged both hands into trousers pockets and 
frowned intently at his shoes. He didn’t get much 
studying done that hour. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE PLAN 

There was hard practice that afternoon in prepa¬ 
ration for the Musket Hill Academy game, and the 
second squad, in process of becoming the second 
team, with a coach and signals of its own, was 
sent against the first for three long periods. 
Myron found himself with the third squad, as 
usual, however, and ended practice with a half- 
hour scrimmage against the substitutes. Perhaps 
Cummins ’ words had made an impression, for he 
certainly played good, hard ball today and ran 
rings around the opposing ends and backs. As 
they played on the second team gridiron, while 
the first team was battling, his performance was 
not noted by the coach. But Keene, an end who 
was otf with a bad ankle and who refereed the 
scrimmage, saw and casually made mention of 
Myron’s work to Jud Mellen later. 

^'That chap Foster played a nifty game today,” 
said Keene. ‘‘He might bear watching, Jud.” 

“Foster! Yes, he’s not half bad. If we didn’t 
have so many good halves he might be useful. 

173 


174 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


Best we can do for him, though, is to carry him 
over for next year, I guess.’’ 

‘‘Well, he’s a pretty player. It seems too bad 
to waste him. How would he fit at end?” 

“Looking for a chance to retire?” laughed Jud. 
“What would we do with another end, Larry? 
Have a heart, man!” 

“Well, but he ought to be tried somewhere, just 
the same, Jud. He plays so blamed smooth!” 

“I wonder if he’d make a quarter.” Jud 
paused in the act of lacing a shoe and stared 
speculatively at a grated and dusty mndow. Then 
he shook his head. “I guess we’re good enough at 
quarter. We’ll know better after Saturday’s 
game, though. How’s the foot getting on? Going 
to be able to play a bit?” 

“Sure! It’s coming on fine. I’ll be good for 
the whole game.” 

“Yes, you will, son! A couple of quarters is 
about your stunt, I guess. Driscoll wants to give 
O’Curry a show, anyway. Know what I think? 
Well, I think Musket Hill’s going to give us a 
tough old tussle. They’ve got almost every line¬ 
man they had last year and the same quarter; 
and you know what the score was last time.” 

“Twelve to ten, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, and it ought to have been turned around, 


THE PLAN 


175^ 


for they played us to a standstill in the second 
half. DriscolPs firm for starting with a second- 
string line, but I don’t like it. That Musket Hill 
coach is a fox. If they get a score on us in the 
first quarter we ’ll be lucky to pass them. ’ ’ 

“They play hard ball, and that’s no joke,” 
agreed Keene. “I hope he pulls me out before 
Grafton gets in.” 

“What’s the matter with Graf!” 

“I don’t know, but I can’t seem to get on with 
him. I think he plays too much for the centre of 
the line. There’s always a hole there and I get 
about two yards more of territory to look after. 
You keep your place, but Grafton sort of wanders 
in.” 

“Glad you spoke of it,” answered Jud. “I’ll 
watch him. Going over!” 

Up to a half-hour after supper Myron was 
convinced that he had no intention of visiting 
Cummins that evening. Cummins was a lot more 
decent than he had thought him, in fact a rather 
likable fellow, but he had a disagreeable way 
of saying things that—well, didn’t need to be 
said. Besides, there was something almost in¬ 
decent in telling another that you liked him and 
asking him to be pals! Even if Cummins had 
taken a fancy to him, as he declared, at least he 


176 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


might have kept it to himself. But when supper 
was over and Myron had turned on the steam in 
Number 17—the evenings were getting decidedly 
chilly now—and settled himself to write a letter 
home, Cummins’ freckled countenance insisted on 
obtruding itself between him and the sheet of 
grey, yellow-monogrammed paper. Joe had not re¬ 
turned to the room and, when the letter was writ¬ 
ten and he had brushed up on Latin and math., 
he would be pretty well bored, he supposed. He 
got as far as “Bear Mother and Father: I didnT 
get this letter written yesterday because I was 

very busy-” Then, after trying to recall what 

he had been busy with and fiddling with the self¬ 
filling device on his pen for a good ten minutes, 
he gave it up. He guessed he’d walk over and hear 
what Cummins’ plan was. Not that it interested 
him any, but he didn’t feel like writing just now. 

Cummins himself answered Myron’s knock, 
although the battered door of Number 16 bore not 
only his card but that of “Guy Henry Brovm,” to 
the end of which name some facetious person had 
added the letters “D.D.” Brown, who played right 
half on the first team, was not at home, however, 
and Cummins, stretched out along the window- 
seat, was the sole occupant of the room. The 
room served as study and chamber both, and a 


THE PLAN 


177 


narrow, white-enamelled bed stood against the 
wall on each side. The rest of the furnishings 
were nondescript and had evidently seen long 
service. A few posters adorned the painted walls 
and the carpet was so threadbare in places that 
one had to guess at the original pattern and hue. 
Nevertheless, there was a comfortable and home¬ 
like look to Number 16 which Myron acknowl¬ 
edged. Cummins tore himself from the book he 
was reading with unflattering deliberateness and 
indicated a shabby automatic rocking-chair. 

“Try the Nerve Dispeller,he invited. “So 
called because when used your own nerves leave 
you and go to the other chap, who has to watch 
you rock. It^s all right; it won’t go over; that’s 
just its playful way.” 

“What were you reading?” asked Myron, by 
way of conversation. 

Chas held the book up and the visitor was sur¬ 
prised to see that it was what he mentally called 
“a kid’s story.” 

“Oh,” he murmured. 

Chas grinned. “I know, but I like them. 
They’re easy to understand and there’s generally 
something doing all through; and you can’t say 
that for these novels some of the fellows pretend 
to read. I tried to wade through one last sum- 


178 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


mer. Nothing happened nntil I got to page 112, 
and then the hero changed his shoes. Maybe he 
changed back again later, but I ducked. Well, how 
are you tonight 

^‘Mel All right, thanks.’’ Myron wondered 
why he had said ‘‘Me,” and then realised that 
he had caught the trick from Joe. “I had a letter 
to write, but I couldn’t seem to get at it, and so I 
thought I’d drop over and see—hear ” 

“That plan? Well, it’s a good one. Put your 
feet up here, will you, and keep that thing still? 
Do you mind? It pretty nearly sets me crazy to 
talk to any one who’s bobbing back and forth like 
one of those china mandarins! I’d have chucked 
that chair long ago, only Guy hates it worse than 
I do. Do you know him, by the way? Guy Brown: 
plays right half on the first.” 

“Only to speak to. I’m not well acquainted 
amongst the ministry.” 

“Oh, that? Some fresh youth wrote that and 
a couple of days afterwards Hale called—Do you 
have him in physics? He lives down the hall— 
and said it was sacrilegious. But I told him it 
stood for ‘Decent Dub’ and he calmed down. Say, 
Foster, can you keep a secret?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it,” said Chas. 


THE PLAN 


179 


Lot’s of fellows can’t. I’m not very good at it 
myself. But I guess you’re one of the kind who 
can. Well, here it is. I’m going to be captain 
next year.” 

‘‘Are you? Captain of what?” asked Myron 
politely. 

“Football, you chump! What did you think, 
the Tennis Team?” 

“Oh!” Myron stared, wondering whether the 
other was joking. But Chas appeared to be quite 
in earnest and returned Myron’s gaze with an 
expression of bland inquiry. 

“Does that interest you?” he asked. 

“It interests me to know how you know you 
are,” said Myron. 

“Of course. Eemember that it’s a secret. If 
you ever tell any one what I’ve just said I’ll draw 
and quarter you and frizzle you crisp in boiling 
oil. I know it, old chap, because I’m after the 
job, and what I go after I get. Unless some dark 
horse develops between now and the Kenwood 
game I’m certain to get it. So we’ll call that 
settled, shall we?” 

“Just as you say,” laughed Myron. “If you 
want it, though, I hope you get it.” 

‘‘ Thanks. Of course, I realise that it isn’t usual 
to mention such matters. You’re not supposed to 


180 


FULL-BACK POSTER 


know that there is such a thing as a captaincy. 
When you get it you nearly die of surprise. Well, 
thaUs not me. I^m after it. Mean to get it, too. 
I wouldn’t say this to every fellow because most of 
them would be so shocked at my—my indelicacy 
they’d never get over it. Besides which, they’d 
probably vote against me.” Chas chuckled. ‘‘So 
can you if you like, Foster. I’m not making a 
bid for your vote.” 

“I’m not likely to have one,” replied Myron 
drily. 

“You will have if my plan works out. Now you 
listen. If I’m going to captain next year’s team 
—and I am, old chap; don’t you doubt it!—I want 
some players around me. I don’t want to run up 
against Kenwood and get licked. That might 
do when some other fellow’s running things, but 
not when I am. No, I want some real players 
with me. Poster. So I’m building my team this 
fall.” 

Myron laughed. ‘ ‘ Honest, Cummins, you ’re the 
craziest chump I ever met! Are you—are you in 
earnest?” 

“Why not? Good, practical scheme, isn’t it? 
What’s wrong with it?” 

“Well, but—you’re not captain! And how can 
you build up a team when you’re not?” 


THE PLAN 


181 


‘‘How? You watch me. Take your case, old 
chap. Maybe you wonT make good this year. 
Mind, I say maybe, I think you will. But if you 
don’t, what?” Myron shook his head helplessly, 
signifying he gave it up and that no matter what 
the answer proved to be he was beyond surprise! 
“Why, you’ll be A1 material for next —if you 
keep your head up. That’s my game, to see that 
you keep going and learn all the football you can 
and don’t drop out of training after the season’s 
over. I think basket-ball will be a good thing 
for you to take up, Foster. Or you might go in 
for the gymnastic team. But I won’t have you 
playing baseball, so don’t get that bug in your 
bonnet. Baseball’s spoiled a lot of good football 
chaps. Track’s all right if you don’t overdo it. 
We’ll settle all that later, though.” 

“Very well,” agreed Myron docilely. “Don’t 
mind me.” 

Chas grinned. “Not going to—much. But you 
see the idea, don’t you? What do you think of 
it?” 

“I think,” returned Myron deliberately, “that 
it’s one of the craziest schemes I ever heard of.” 

Chas looked much pleased. “All right. And 
then what?” 

“And I think it may work out beautifully.” 


1 


182 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘Sure it will! So thaUs why I went after you, 
old chap. You’re a ‘prospect.’ ” 

“Oh,” said Myron demurely, “I thought it 
was because you had taken a violent fancy to 
me.” 

“That too! Don’t make any mistake, old chap. 
I want fellows of the right sort, and I want fellows 
that I like and who like me. I can do things with 
that sort: they’ll work for me. And I’ll work for 
them: work my fingers off if necessary. Now for 
the plan.” 

“I’m listening,” said Myron. 

“How’d you like to get on the first this fall, 
Foster?” 

“Well, seeing that I’m black-and-blue pretty 
nearly all over, that seems sort of—of idle!” 

“Just getting black-and-blue isn’t enough, old 
chap. Lots of dubs are purple-and-green that’ll 
be dropped next week. Now, look here. Who told 
you you were a born half-back?” 

“No one, of course. I’ve played that position, 
though, and know it. I played end for a while too, 
but half seemed to be my place.” 

“Yes. Well, we’ve got exactly five good to 
middling half-backs this year, Foster, and you’re 
no better than about two of them and not nearly 
so good as two more, Brown and Meldrum. So, 


THE PLAN 183 

you see, you’re sort of up against it. See that, 
don’t you?” 

“I suppose so. Just the same, if I had a chance 
I might beat Brounker and Vance, and then, if 
Brown or Mel drum-” 

‘‘Broke his neck you’d get in?” asked Chas im¬ 
patiently. “What’s the good of that sort of 
figuring? What you want to do, old chap, is to 
go after something that shows a chance of success. 
That other game’s too much like waiting for dead 
men’s shoes, as they say. You might get into the 
big game for five minutes, or you might not. And 
I’m not so dead sure that you could beat out those 
fellows. And, anyway, there’s still Robbins 
against you. Yes, I know he isn’t such a wonder 
now, but suppose he starts to come while you’re 
coming? How do you know he won’t come just as 
fast, or a little bit faster? No, that’s rotten plan¬ 
ning, Foster. You’re all wrong. Forget that 
you’re a half and go hard after a job that’s open 
to you.” 

“Where’ll I find it?” asked Myron. “What 
other position is there?” 

“Full-back,” said Chas. 


CHAPTER XVI 


CONSPIRACY 

^ ^ Full-back ! ^ ^ exclaimed Myron. ‘ ‘ Why, I never 

played it! I donT know it! I- 

‘ ^ Piffle! What’s the difference ? Any chap who 
can play half well can play full-back decently. 
Besides, I’ve got a strong hunch that you’d make 
a good one, Foster. You aren’t as heavy as I’d 
like you, but you’re fast and you start quick and 
you hit ’em hard. When it comes right down to it, 
I’m not sure I wouldn’t as soon have a lighter 
man who can jump off quick as a heavier one who 
gets going slow. But the big idea about turning 
you into a full-back is that you ’ll have a fair show 
for that position. I like Steve Kearns, but he 
ought never to have been taken back from the 
line. He was a mighty promising tackle last year 
until Desmond got damaged and we had to have 
a full-back in a hurry. As for Williams and Bob 
Houghton, they aren’t more than fair. There’s 
a nice job waiting for a smart, steady full-back 
who’ll live on the premises and be kind to the 
dogs, Foster. And I nominate you.” 

184 


CONSPIEACY 185 

Myron made no answer for a moment. This 
thing of having some one else arrange his affairs 
was a bit startling. Finally he said, doubtfully: 
^‘ArenT we forgetting that Driscoll and Mellen 
have something to say, Cummins T’ 

‘‘Not a bit of it. "What weVe got to do is show 
them that you are the fellow they want there. 
Then they’ll simply have to have you.” 

“It would be learning a new game, though.” 
“Kot! The positions aren’t very different. 
Just think a minute.” Myron thought. Then: 
“How about punting?” he asked dubiously. 
“I’ve seen you do thirty,” answered Chas. 
“You seem to have made a life study of me,” 
laughed Myron. “Yes, I can do thirty, and better, 
too, I guess, but I’ve never had much of it to do 
and I don’t believe that I can place my kicks, 
and I don’t know how I’d get along if a bunch of 
wild Indians was tearing down on me. I’d prob¬ 
ably get frightfully rattled and try to put the 
ball down my neck, or something.” 

“You’d need practice, of course,” Chas granted. 
“I could show you a few things myself, and if you 
went after the position Driscoll would see that 
you got plenty of punting work. Don’t let that 
worry you. The thing to do, and it may not be 


186 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

so easy, is to persuade Driscoll that you have the 

making of a good full-back.^’ 

‘‘Ye-es.’^ Myron was silent a minute. 
like to ask you something, Cummins,’’ he said at 
last. 

^^Shoot!” 

‘‘What other changes are you considering on the 
team?” 

Chas chuckled. “None, just now. I had 
thought—but never mind that. You see, what 
I want to d'^, Foster, is to fix things so that when 
next September rolls around I’ll have the making 
of a good team. A lot of this year’s bunch will 
graduate, you know. I’ve got to make sure that 
there’ll be other chaps to take their places. For 
instance, Steve Kearns, even if he was a corking 
good full-back, wouldn’t do me any good next fall 
because he won’t be here. Don’t get it into your 
bean that I’m queering this year’s team for the 
sake of next year’s, though, because that’s not the 
idea. I wouldn’t do that if I could.” 

“I begin to believe you could, all right,” said 
Myron. “I have a notion that if you thought it 
would be better to have some one else captain 
you’d talk ^Tellrn into resigning!” 

“Well, I dare say I’d try it,” laughed Chas. 
“Now what do you say!” 


CONSPIRACY 


187 


‘‘About this full-back business? Why, I^m will¬ 
ing, Cummins. I^m not getting anywhere as a 
half-back, and I guess I w^ouldn^t do much worse 
at the other stunt. But what I don’t see is how 
I’m to persuade the coach to let me change.” 

“I know. I haven’t got that quite doped out 
yet. I don’t believe just asking for a chance to 
play full-back would do. He might fall for it, 
and he might not. You let me mull that over until 
tomorrow and I’ll see if I can’t hit on some 
scheme. Meanwhile, if I were you I’d sort of put 
myself through an exam and see how much I knew 
about playing full. You might take a book that I 
have along with you and read what it says about 
it. It’s not a very new book, but it’s the best 
that’s ever been written, and there isn’t much dif¬ 
ference in a full-back’s job then and now. I’ll see 
you at the field tomorrow. By the way, are you 
going with the team Saturday?” 

“To North Lebron? I don’t know. I don’t sup¬ 
pose Driscoll will take me with the squad, but I 
might go along and see the game.” 

“You’d better. It doesn’t hurt a fellow to see 
all the football he can, even if he sees it from the 
stand. Got to beat it? Well, here’s the book, old 
chap. And mind, not a word to any one about 
this business. It’s between you and me, Foster.” 


186 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


Myron found Joe and Andrew Merriman in 
the room when he got back, and he took his part in 
the talk for a half-hour or so. When Andrew went 
he pushed his school books aside and opened the 
little blue-bound volume that Cummins had loaned 
him. Joe, across the table, half-hidden by the 
drop-light, knotted his fingers in his hair and 
groaned at intervals. At ten both boys yawned 
and went to bed. Myron was not a sparkling 
success in Latin class the next forenoon. 

A three o’clock recitation made him somewhat 
late for practice and Cummins was trotting about 
the gridiron in signal work when he arrived at 
the field. Mr. Driscoll sent him over to the second 
team gridiron to join the third squad and so, 
after all, he didn’t learn from Cummins whether 
the latter had found a solution to their problem. 
Nor did he run across Cummins again that day. 
The first team was let off early, all save the 
punters and goal-kickers, and Cummins had left 
the gymnasium when Myron got there at half¬ 
past five. He considered looking him up at his 
room after supper, but he had rather more than 
half promised Joe to go over to Merriman’s and 
so decided not to. 

There was no practice for the first the next 
afternoon, but the other squads were put through 


CONSPIRACY 


189 


a full day’s work. To Myron’s surprise, Cummins 
took command when scrimmage time came, Coach 
Driscoll disappearing from the field. Myron found 
himself at left half on the second squad, with 
Houghton at full-back. In that position he played 
for five minutes. Then Cummins, who was evi¬ 
dently very hard to please today, called a halt. 

‘‘That’ll do. Bob,” he told Houghton. “0 
Billy! Got a full-back there!” 

“I have not,” answered the trainer. * “I’ve got 
a half here. Want him!” 

“Wait a minute.” Cummins ran his eye over 
the second squad backs. “Foster, have you ever 
played full!” he growled. 

“No,” answered Myron. 

“Want to try it! All right, fall back here. 
Send your half in, Billy.” 

Myron heartily wished that Cummins hadn’t 
shifted him, for while he had a very fair notion 
of a full-back’s duties, he wasn’t at all keen about 
displaying his knowledge under those circum¬ 
stances. He was, he felt, bound to make a hash of 
the job, and there were several fellows within a 
few yards who would be tickled to death to have 
him do so. He was glad he had discounted his 
failure by acknowledging his inexperience. Wlien 
Cummins had asked him, he hadn’t known whether 


190 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


the temporary coach had expected him to say yes 
or no. He didn’t know yet, but he felt that his 
reply had certainly been the better one. 

Cummins wasn’t gentle with him. Every mis¬ 
take he made, and he made many, was pointed out 
to him in emphatic language. Myron wanted to 
pinch himself to make certain that he wasn’t 
dreaming. Cummins had conspired with him to 
get him into the position of full-back and now he 
was snarling and growling at him quite as though 
Myron had forced himself into the place on false 
pretences. Myron thought that in consideration 
of the circumstances Cummins might have dealt a 
little less harshly with his shortcomings. But, on 
the whole, Myron didn’t do so badly. He honestly 
believed that he was playing as well as the de¬ 
posed Houghton. Cummins didn’t let him punt, 
for which he was grateful, and he encouraged 
Warren, who was playing at quarter, to use many 
end plays. Outside of tackle, Myron was usually 
successful whenever he received the pigskin, and 
he once or twice made good on plunges at the 
centre of the line. There, however, his lack of 
weight told somewhat. In the first twelve-minute 
period the second squad got one touchdown and 
goal and might have had a second score if Cum¬ 
mins had not put them back from the eight yards 


CONSPIRACY 


191 


to the eighteen on some whim of his own. Third 
got the ball on downs six inches from the last 
white streak and punted out of danger, and the 
second was mad enough to rend Cummins limb 
from limb! When a five-minute rest came Cum¬ 
mins called Myron from the bench and led him 
into the field. To those watching it was perfectly 
evident that Chas w^as telling the green full-back 
how absolutely rotten he was. They would have 
been surprised had they heard the conversation 
out there. 

‘‘You weren’t half bad, old chap,” said Chas 
eagerly, yet scowling ferociously still. ‘‘You 
slowed up once or twice when you hit the line, 
though. Try to keep going hard. A good way to 
do is to think of the other fellow’s goal line instead 
of his players. Sort of make yourself think that’s 
where you’re going. You’ll get farther before 
you’re stopped, if you are stopped. How do you 
like it!” 

“All right,” answered Myron, a bit grumpily. 
“But considering that I’ve never played it be¬ 
fore it seems to me you might let up on me a bit. 
You go on as if I’d murdered my grandmother!” 

“Why, sure,” chuckled Chas. “You don’t want 
those fellows to think I’m pulling for you, do you? 
It’s got to look like an accident, don’t you see? 


192 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


I want to be able to tell Driscoll tonight that you 
went in at full in an emergency and played a 
corking good game. Then, if he has half the sense 
I think he has, he will put you in there himself the 
first of the week and look you over. By the way, 
want to try a little punting in the next period U’ 

‘‘I don’t believe I’d better,” answer Myron, 
guess I’d rather not.” 

‘‘Maybe you’re right. If you made a mess of 
a punt it would sort of take off a few good marks. 
All right. Now see if you can do a little better 
still this half. And don’t mind my growls, old 
chap. You’re getting no worse than any other 
fellow would get.” 

Twelve more minutes of hard playing followed 
in which the third turned the tables with a long 
run that netted a touchdowm. But the try-at-goal 
failed and, after the second had battered its way 
to the enemy’s twelve yards, Warren’s attempt at 
a drop-kick went wide and the referee, the assist¬ 
ant manager, blew his whistle. In that second 
period Myron did a little better because he was 
learning his duties, but it would be an exaggera¬ 
tion to say that he showed phenomenal ability as 
a full-back. He made several good games, gains, 
was strong in defensive play and got off one very 
pretty forward pass to Mistley that netted twenty 


CONSPIRACY 


193 


yards. In short, Chas had to show a little more 
enthusiasm than he actually felt when he spoke to 
Coach Driscoll that evening. There had been a 
final conference in the coach’s room at half-past 
seven attended by the trainer, the managers and 
seven of the players, and the last problem of the 
morrow’s game had been solved more or less satis¬ 
factorily. Afterwards, Chas remained behind 
vdth Jud Mellen and Farnsworth and Harry Cater 
for a sociable chat. None of them meant to talk 
football, and none of them did for a full quarter 
of an hour, but it is difficult to keep the subject 
uppermost in the mind out of the conversation, 
and presently Jud said thoughtfully: 

wish we had about three more good plays, 
Coach.” 

We’ve got enough. Cap,” was the confident 
reply. ‘‘No use trying to remember too many at 
this time of the season. Better know ten or twelve 
well than half know twenty. It isn’t lack of plays 
that will beat us tomorrow, if we are beaten-” 

“Sure to be,” interpolated Katie cheerfully. 

“Well, it’ll be because we haven’t got our at¬ 
tack working, then. Musket Hill is well ahead of 
us in development, and that’s going to count, fel¬ 
lows. However, we may show them something, 
at that.” 


194 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘By the way, Coach,’’ said Chas, “I ran out of 
full-backs this afternoon and used that fellow 
Foster through most of two periods. He wasn’t 
half rotten, if you ask me. He’d never played it 
in his life, either.” 

“Foster? What happened to Houghton?” 

“It wasn’t his day,” said Chas. “So I had to 
find some one else for the second squad.” 

“Houghton hasn’t had a day for a good while,” 
murmured Farnsworth drily. 

“For the love of Mike,” exclaimed Jud Mel- 
len, “if we can make a full-back of Foster, let’s 
do it. Coach! It’s the weakest position on the 
team right now.” 

“I’ve been thinking that Kearns would come 
on,” said Mr. Driscoll, “but he doesn’t seem to 
get the hang of it.” 

“He works hard enough,” said Katie. 

“How did you happen to choose Foster?” 
asked the Coach of Chas. “You had Wiborg. 
He’s played full.” 

“Don’t think he was there. I asked Billy and 
Billy only offered me a half.” 

“Wiborg wasn’t out today,” explained the 
manager. “He’s been having some trouble with 
the Office. Nothing serious, I believe, but he asked 
for a cut.” 


CONSPIRACY 195 

^^You say Foster showed up pretty well, Cum¬ 
mins 

“He really did, Coach. Of course, I don’t know 
how he’d be at punting, but he made some mighty 
good gains from kicking formation and went into 
the third pretty hard from close in.” 

“He could be taught enough punting to get 
by with,” suggested Captain Mellen. “Maybe 
he’ll be a find, Coach. I’ve said right along that 
he looked good.” 

“No harm in trying him,” mused Mr. Driscoll. 
“If Kearns doesn’t show something tomorrow 
we’ll need a good full-back. Much obliged for 
the tip, Cummins. Well, good night, fellows-. 
Get a good sleep and be ready with the punch 
tomorrow. We want that game if we can get it!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


A CHANCE ENCOUNTEE 

The team left for Noxth Lebron at eleven o’clock 
the next forenoon. The town that had the honour . 
of containing Musket Hill Academy was not so 
far away in distance, but those who had arranged 
the train service had not consulted the Parkinson 
School Football Team, and as a result of this 
oversight there was an hour and a half to be 
spent at a junction that boasted, besides a de¬ 
crepit station, only a blacksmith’s shop, a general 
store and eight assorted dwellings. Myron knew 
that there were eight dwellings because he counted 
them twice. There wasn’t much of anything else 
to do. 

He was not journeying to North Lebron in any 
official capacity, for his name had not been 
amongst those announced yesterday by Manager 
Farnsworth. He was going along, with some sixty 
other “fans,” mostly because Chas Cummins had 
insisted on his doing so. Privately, he had enter¬ 
tained the thought up to an hour after breakfast 
that, not having been invited to attend the con- 
196 


A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 197 

test as a member of the team, it would be the 
part of dignity to remain away. But Chas wasnT 
greatly concerned with dignity, and he had a 
masterful way with him, and the result was that 
at a little before nine o’clock Myron was in pos¬ 
session of the knowledge that he was going to 
North Lebron at eleven-four. 

At twelve he was seated on an edge of the plat¬ 
form at the junction, juggling three pebbles in 
his hand and boredly wondering what it would 
be like to have to live in the fifth dwelling; th^ 
one with the blue-green blinds and the sagging 
porch and the discarded wagon-seat serving as a 
porch settle. The day was positively hot for 
October and few of the travellers had elected to 
remain inside the coaches. Some of the school 
fellows were adorning the platform, like Myron, 
others were strolling about the adjacent landscape 
in search of adventures, and a merry handful 
were exercising the baggage truck up and down 
the planks to the restrained displeasure of the 
sad-looking station agent. Coming over, Myron 
had shared a seat with a stranger, a lad of four¬ 
teen or so, and had managed to pass the time in 
conversation on various subjects, but now the 
youngster had disappeared and no one else ap¬ 
peared to care about taking his place. Joe and 


198 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

Chas were with the football crowd in the forward 
car, and Myron had seen neither of them to speak 
to since leaving Warne. Andrew Merriman had 
not been able to come. In consequence, Myron had 
no one to talk to and was fast reaching the de¬ 
cision that he would have had more pleasure had 
he remained at home. Even the assurance that he 
was irreproachably arrayed in a suit of cool grey 
flannel, vdth a cap to match, a cream-coloured 
shirt and patriotic brown tie and stockings didn’t 
mitigate his boredom. Of late he had been deriv¬ 
ing less satisfaction than of yore from his attire. 
Somehow, whether his tie and stockings matched 
or whether his trousers were smoothly pressed 
seemed of less consequence to him. Several times 
of late he had forgotten his scarf-pin! 

His discontented musings were interrupted by 
the arrival beside him of a youth of perhaps 
nineteen. Myron had glimpsed him once on the 
train and been struck by his good looks and by 
the good taste of his attire. He wore blue serge, 
but it was serge of an excellent quality and cut 
to perfection. And there was a knowing touch 
to the paler blue scarf with its modest moonstone 
pin and something pleasantly exceptional in the 
shape of the soft collar. Myron felt a kindred 
interest in the tall, good-looking youth, and de- 


A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 


199 


termined to speak to him. But the stranger fore¬ 
stalled him, for, as soon as he had seated himself 
nearby on the platform edge, he turned, glancing 
at Myron and remarked: ^‘Hot, isn’t it?” 

The stranger’s tone held just the correct mix¬ 
ture of cordiality and restraint. Myron, agreeing, 
felt flattered that the well-dressed youth had 
singled him out. The weather, as a subject of 
conversation, soon failed, but there were plenty 
of other things to discuss, and at the end of ten 
minutes the two were getting on famously. The 
stranger managed to inform Myron without ap¬ 
pearing to do so that he was interested in a sport¬ 
ing goods house in New Haven, that he had been 
in Hartford on business and that, having nothing 
better to do today, he had decided to run over to 
North Lebron and see the game between Musket 
Hill and Parkinson. fancy you’re a Parkin¬ 
son fellow?” he said questioningly. And when 
Myron acknowledged the fact: A fine school, I’ve 
heard. IVe never been there. Warne’s otf my 
territory. I’ve been thinking, though, that some 
day I’d run over and see if I could do any busi¬ 
ness there. I suppose you chaps buy most of your 
athletic supplies in New York.” 

“I think so. There’s one store in Warne that 
carries a pretty fair line of goods, though.” 


200 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘I think I’ll have to try your town. Parkin¬ 
son’s rather a big place, isn’t it?” 

‘^We have over five hundred fellows this year.” 

“Is that so? Why, there ought to be some 
business there for my house. I suppose you chaps 
go in for most everything: football, baseball, 
hockey, tennis? How about track athletics?” 

“There’s a track team,” answered Myron, “but 
this is my first year and I don’t know much about 
it yet.” 

“I see.” The other looked appraisingly and, 
Myron thought, even admiringly over his new 
acquaintance. “I say, you look as if you ought 
to be playing football yourself, old man. Or is 
baseball your game?” 

“Football, but I’m not on the first. It’s hard 
work breaking in at Parkinson.” 

“Good guess of mine, wasn’t it?” laughed the 
other. “Thought you had the build for a good 
football man. I meet a good many of them, you 
see. How’s this team you’ve got ahead there? 
Going to lick Musket Hill this afternoon?” 

“I don’t know. I hope so. I have an idea that 
our coach rather expects a hard game, though. 
I’ve heard that Musket Hill is further along than 
we are.” 

“Those fellows play good football,” said the 


A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 


201 


stranger. ‘HVe seen them in action once or twice. 
I hope you chaps get away with the game, but my 
opinion is that you’ll have to go some to do it. 
Got some good men on your team!” 

Myron w^as quite willing to sing the praises of 
Parkinson, and during the ensuing half-hour the 
stranger was treated to quite a fund of informa¬ 
tion regarding the school, the football team and 
Myron Warrenton Foster. Football, though, 
seemed to interest the tall youth most of all, and 
several times Myron was turned back to that sub¬ 
ject by polite questions. When the train from the 
south pulled in the two were still conversing and 
it w’as but natural that they should share a seat 
for the remainder of the journey. The stranger 
could talk interestingly himself and the last part 
of the trip was occupied with absorbing and even 
startling adventures met with by him in his busi¬ 
ness trips. More than once Myron’s credulity 
was severely taxed, but a glance at the narrator’s 
frank and pleasing countenance dispelled all sus¬ 
picions of mendacity. Myron found this chance 
acquaintance so interesting that he rather hoped 
they might witness the game together, but when 
North Lebron was reached the stranger announced 
that he had one or two errands to attend to be¬ 
fore going up to the field. 


202 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘Maybe I’ll run across you there—er—What’s 
the name, by the way?” 

“Foster.” 

“Mine’s Millard. I haven’t a card with me. 
Wish I had. But, I say, Foster, if you don’t 
mind I’d like to look you up if I get to Warne. 
Those little towns are dull holes if you don’t know 
any one in them.” 

‘‘I wish you would!’’ said Myron. “You’ll find 
me in 17 Sohmer Hall. Can you remember that!” 

“Sohmer, you said? Number 17? I’ll remem¬ 
ber, Foster. Awfully glad to have met you. It’s 
jolly nice to run across a chap who’s—^well, a 
chap who has your own views on things, if you get 
me.” He shook hands cordially, evidently regret¬ 
fully. “I’ll try to find you at the game, old man. 
If I don’t, look for me in your burg before long. 
I’m going to have a go at that dealer you spoke 
of.” 

“I’ll try and save a seat for you if you think 
you’re likely to find me,” offered Myron. 

But the other waved a hand. “Don’t bother. 
I can squeeze in. And I may be rather late in 
getting there. Good-bye and good luck. Hope 
you beat ’em!” 

That encounter restored both Myron’s self¬ 
esteem and good humour, and he enjoyed the 


A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 


203 


sandwich and pie and milk whi^ he ate in com¬ 
pany with half a hundred other youths at the 
little lunch-room on the way uptown. Later, 
wandering by himself through the leaf-strewn 
streets about the school campus, he came across 
Joe and Paxton Cantrell, the latter a sturdy, wide¬ 
shouldered youth who was playing his second— 
and last—season at centre. Cantrell left them 
a minute or two later to speak to an acquaintance 
and Myron and Joe walked on to the school gym¬ 
nasium together. 

‘^They fed us at a hotel down there by the sta¬ 
tion,” said Joe sadly, ‘‘and I want to tell you that 
not one of us over-ate. Everything came to us in 
bird baths and you needed a microscope to find the 
contents. Norris lost his roast beef and didnT 
find it until he was through dinner, and where 
do you suppose it was?” 

“In his lap, I guess.” 

“No, sir, it had slipped under his thumb-nail!” 

Myron told of the stranger encountered at the 
junction and was quite full of his subject, but Joe 
didnT seem to find it interesting and soon inter¬ 
rupted to point out a building. “Wliat do yon 
suppose that is ? ” he asked. ‘ ‘ Looks like a factory 
of some sort, donT it? Only it ain’t—hasn’t got 
any chimneys, as far as I can see.” 


204 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘Maybe iUs a hospital or something/’ replied 
Myron. “He says he’s coming to Warne pretty 
soon and will look me up. I’d like to have you 
meet him, Joe.” 

“Who’s this?” 

“Why, Millard, the chap I was speaking of,’^ 
answered Myron disgustedly. 

“Oh! Glad to know him. Which street do we 
take now?” 

They parted at the gymnasium and Myron 
joined the throng pressing toward the field, a 
short block away. ,He looked for Millard, but 
didn’t see him. Later, during the intermission, he 
thought he caught sight of him in the throng be¬ 
hind the Musket Hill bench, but others intervened 
and he was not able to make certain. 

The game started at half-past two, by which 
time the morning heat had been somewhat abated 
by a fresh breeze that blew across the oval field and 
fluttered the big maroon banner above the covered 
stand that held the Musket Hill rooters. Parkin¬ 
son’s sixty odd supporters, grouped together on 
the other side of the field, did valiant service with 
their voices, but to Myron it seemed that their 
contribution to the din that prevailed as the two 
teams trotted on together was very slight. He 
was wedged in between a stout youth named Hoi- 


A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 


205 


lis, whom he instinctively disliked because of his 
high-pitched voice, and a studious-appearing boy 
in spectacles whose name he didn’t know. Hollis 
had vindicated Myron’s verdict before the teams 
had finished warming up by showing himself to 
be one of those cock-sure, opinionated and loud- 
talking youths of which every school is possessed. 
His neighbour at his left elbow proved inoffensive 
and only once during the game uttered any sound 
that Myron could hear. Then, while every one 
else was on his feet, shouting and gesticulating, 
the spectacled youth smiled raptly and murmured, 
‘‘Oh, bully indeed!” 

Myron purchased a score-card from a boy with 
a maroon band about his arm, exchanging a bright 
ten cent piece for a flimsy, smoochy slip of paper 
that, so far as the visiting team was concerned, 
was as untruthful as it was unlovely. The card 
declared that “Mullen” would play left tackle 
for Parkinson, that “Sawtrell” was her centre 
and that “Wildram” was the name of her left 
half-back. Myron corrected these misstatements 
when Captain Mellen had trotted his warriors out 
on the field, and some others besides, for Coach 
Driscoll had sent five substitutes to the fray, four 
linemen and a back. When Myron had got 
through making over his score-card it looked like 


206 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


one of his corrected English compositions and 
read as follows; Stearns, he.; Mellen, l.t.; Brod- 
head, l.g.; Cantrell, c.; Dobbins, r.g.; Flay, r.t.; 
Grove, r.e.; Cater, q.b.; Brounker, l.h.; Brown, 
r.h.; Kearns, f.b. 

Myron was glad that Joe was to have his chance 
in a real game, and for the first period watched 
his room-mate so closely that the general aspect 
of the game was quite lost on him and he came 
to with a start when the teams changed fields, 
realising that however nicely Joe had played—and 
he had played well: there was no question about 
that—the eleven as a whole had failed to show 
anything resembling real football. While neither 
team had found its gait. Musket Hill had already 
threatened the visitors’ goal and only a sad fumble 
had held her away from it. And now, wdth the 
second ten-minute period beginning, the ball was 
again in the Maroon’s possession on Parkinson’s 
thirty-three yards. Myron sat up and took notice, 
deciding to let Joe play his game unaided by 
telepathic waves from the grandstand! 

Musket Hill \vas a heavy team, although her 
players got their weight from height rather than 
breadth. They were, almost without exception, 
tall, rangey youths with an extremely knowing 


A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 


207 


manner of handling themselves. Myron’s brow 
clouded as he watched that first play after the 
whistle. Musket Hill used an open formation, 
with her backs side by side a full pace further 
distant than usual. From this formation, with 
the quarter frequently joining the line of backs 
at left or right. Musket Hill worked a variety of 
plays: straight plunges at centre, delayed passes 
sliding off tackle, quarter-back runs, even punts, 
the latter, thanks to a steady bunch of forwards, 
never threatened with disaster. The Maroon 
played a shifty game, changing her plays often, 
seldom attacking the same place twice no matter 
what gains might result. Toward the end the 
latter rule did not hold good, but for three full 
periods she observed it rigorously, even to the im¬ 
patience and protests of her supporters. Before 
that second period was three minutes old she had 
settled down into her stride and demonstrated 
the fact that, whatever favours of fortune might 
occur, on the basis of ability alone she was more 
than a match for her opponent. 

The Maroon secured her first score less than 
three minutes from the start of the second quarter 
as unexpectedly as deftly, and Myron and his com¬ 
panions on the west stand had scarcely recovered 


208 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


from their surprise by the time the goal was 
kicked! The ball had been on Parkinson’s forty- 
two yards, after Musket Hill had punted, caught 
again and carried the pigskin four yards in two 
downs. The Maroon’s trick of punting from that 
three-man formation, and close to the line, had 
got the enemy worried. The latter was never 
quite certain when an unexpected kick would go 
over a back’s head, for Musket Hill punted with¬ 
out rule or reason, it seemed. To keep two men 
up the field at all times was impossible, and so 
Parkinson compromised and put Brown midway 
between the line and Cater. As Musket Hill had 
netted but four yards in two downs, it was fair to 
assume that she was just as likely to kick on the 
third down as to rush, and Brown edged further 
back at Cater’s call. But Musket Hill did the un¬ 
expected. There was a quick, dazzling movement 
behind her line and then the ball arched away to 
her left. Somehow an end was under it when it 
came down and, although Stearns almost foiled 
him, caught it and reached the five-yard line be¬ 
fore he was seriously challenged by Brodhead. 
He had kept close to the side-line, and Brown, 
playing well back, was his nearest foe when the 
twenty-five-yard line was reached. But Brown 
never had a chance, for a Musket'Hill youth 


A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 209 

brought him low, while a second effectively dis¬ 
posed of Cater a moment after. Brodhead alone 
stood for an instant between the Brown and 
disaster—none ever knew how he had managed to 
get back to the five yards—and for a heart-beat it 
seemed that the runner was doomed. But Brod¬ 
head ^s tackle only spun the red-legged runner 
about and sent him across the final white line like 
a top in its last gyrations. 

A well-kicked goal added another point to the 
six, and the teams went back to the centre of the 
field once more. To Myron it seemed then that 
Parkinson realised defeat, for there was that in 
the attitudes and movements of the players that 
had not been there before. It was not dejection, 
but it might have been called the ghost of it. And 
yet for the remainder of the period Parkinson took 
and held the upper hand and the half ended with 
the ball in her possession on her forty-eight yards. 

Myron wanted to talk over the game very badly, 
hut the youth with spectacles was doing what ap¬ 
peared to be an intricate problem in algebra on the 
back of his score-card, while as for the stout boy 
on his other side, he had heard enough of his 
conversation already. Just now he was knowingly 
informing his companion that the trouble with 
Parkinson was that she needed a decent coach. 


210 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


His brief glimpse of Millard—if it really was Mil¬ 
lard—distracted him for a moment or two, and 
after that he listened to the joyful sounds from 
the Musket Hill side and felt rather disappointed 
and lonesome. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


MYKON GETS HIS CHANCE 

I SHOULD like to tell how Parkinson found herself 
in the last half of the game and won the contest. 
But nothing of that sort happened. Coach Dris¬ 
coll started the third period with all his regulars 
in the line, and, in consequence, Musket Hill found 
slower going. Gains in the line were far less fre¬ 
quent, and only outside of tackles was the Maroon 
likely to win territory. But the home team clearly 
out-punted the visitors, although, in the final 
period. Garrison was pulled back from the line 
to swing his toe for Parkinson. Musket Hill made 
but one long advance in the last twenty minutes, 
and, as before, a forward pass was the method 
chosen. Keene, who had taken Stearns’ place at 
left end, was caught napping badly, and Meldrum, 
the left half, who should have seen the signs and 
been on guard, found himself tied up with the 
enemy. The result was a fine thirty-seven yard 
gain that placed the pigskin on Parkinson’s nine 
yards. 

Prom a Parkinson point of view, the most en- 
211 ; 


212' 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


couraging feature jf the day developed then when 
the Brown line, forced back to its six yards and 
then to its four, and finally retired to its two for 
being off-side, stood firm and took the ball away 
a foot from her goal-line. It was then that the 
west stand shouted and cheered and that Myron, 
silent a moment for want of breath, heard his 
spectacled neighbour give vent to the enthusiastic 
remark already recorded. But no team can win 
who can’t score, and Parkinson couldn’t score. On 
attack she was decidedly weak. The ability was 
there, but the team had not yet learned to make 
use of it. Individually, nearly every fellow in 
the Brown line played really excellent football, but 
teamwork was missing. For a brief four or five 
minutes at the be^nning of the last quarter there 
came a semblance of it, and Parkinson, securing 
the ball on a punt near her thirty yards, managed 
to work it down to the enemy’s thirty. G-uy 
Brow was the bright particular star, and, aided 
by Meldrum, tore off gain after gain through a 
weakened left side of the enemy’s ranks. But 
when Musket Hill brought in two substitutes to 
bolster the point of attack the advance petered 
out, and when Brown had twice failed to gain and 
Kearns had lost a yard on a wide end run, Parkin¬ 
son was forced to punt. That punt marked the 


MYRON GETS HIS CHANCE 213 

end of Parkinson’s defiance. From then on she 
plugged away doggedly to avert a worse defeat 
and, aided by the over-zealousness of Musket Hill’s 
several substitutes and by the sharp-eyed officials, 
succeeded. When the final whistle blew Parkinson 
was down on her twelve yards, her back again to 
the wall, and only that whistle saved her. 

Musket Hill appeared more than satisfied with 
her score of 7 to 0. It was only her second victory 
over Parkinson in many years of contest, although 
there had been ties and close scores, and Myron, 
standing in his place with the other Parkinsonians 
and cheering bravely, witnessed a hilarious cele¬ 
bration as Musket Hill overfiowed the field and 
began a sinuous snake-dance from side to side 
and from goal to goal. Then came a hurried 
scramble for the four-forty-eight train and a 
tedious and, for his part, dejected journey back 
to Warne. He hoped that Millard would show up, 
although that engaging youth hadn’t spoken of 
returning by that train. He didn’t, however, and 
Myron had a dull time of it. 

The next afternoon, being Sunday, he and Joe 
visited Andrew Merriman, and later they rescued 
Zephaniah from his box-stall and, accompanied by 
that joyous companion, took a long walk into the 
countfy. The afternoon was ideal, although too 


214 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


warm for brisk walking. Andrew spied some but¬ 
ternut trees up a lane and they prospected. But 
the nuts were still green, for no hard frosts had 
visited them yet. The boys found a sunny spot 
nearby and stretched themselves out on a bank of 
ferns and Zephaniah had a monstrous adventure 
with a cricket and got tangled in a blackberry vine 
and fell off a stone wall and, in short, spent the 
most glorious hour of his young life. 

Andrew and Joe did most of the talking that 
afternoon. Myron was in a rather gloomy frame 
of mind, although he couldn’t have found any ex¬ 
planation for the fact. Andrew rallied him once 
on the score of his silence, and Myron said he was 
tired. After that he really thought he was. Joe 
was in high spirits. He had been pitted against 
a worthy adversary yesterday and, during the 
time he had faced him, had had a glorious time. 
Every one said that he had outplayed his oppo¬ 
nent, and Joe knew it. He regretted that Mr. 
Driscoll had seen fit to put Garrison in his place 
in the last half, however, earnestly assuring 
Andrew and Myron that if he had stayed in he 
would have had ‘Uhat guy Fraser eating out of 
my hand in the last quarter!” But a good tussle 
always cheered Joe up wonderfully, and the ef¬ 
fects of that strenuous twenty minutes lasted him 


MYRON GETS HIS CHANCE 215 


for several days: just as a fine big vari-coloured 
lump under his left eye did! 

When Myron returned to Sohmer at dusk he 
found a scrawled note from Chas Cummins. ‘‘No 
one home!’’ he read. “Looked for you on the 
train coming back, but couldn’t find you. What 
do you know about us? Looks like Fortune 
favours the brave and all that sort of thing, 
doesn’t it? Watch for developments tomorrow! 
Yours, C.C.” . ' 

Myron found the note somewhat cryptic. For 
a minute he thought of going around to see Chas 
in the evening, but then he decided that if Chas 
had wanted to see him he would have said so. 
As a result, he stayed at home and did some 
much-needed studying. 

Monday afternoon found a number of the regu¬ 
lars absent from practice. The game on Saturday 
had been a strenuous one and several of the 
players had earned a rest. Chas was on hand, 
however, although not in togs, and the same was 
true of Jud Mellen. Cantrell and Garrison and 
Cater were absent, and one or two others, and the 
first squad had a sort of shot-to-pieces look. Dum¬ 
my practice started the proceedings, and, since 
much poor tackling had been shown in the Musket 
Hill contest, the drill was a long one. It seemed 


216 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


to Myron that every one had nerves today, from 
Coach Driscoll down to the last and least im¬ 
portant substitute. Manager Farnsworth, pulling 
the rope that shot the canvas dummy across the 
trolley, was short of speech and jerky of manner, 
Jud Mellen, watching grimly from beside the 
freshly-spaded pit, frowned and twisted his hands 
about in his uprolled sweater and made biting 
comments, and even Billy Goode, normally sweet- 
tempered as a cherub, looked and spoke as if some 
one had been casting aspersions on Ireland! Only 
Chas, grinning like a catfish, appeared unaffected 
by the general epidemic. Chas joked and jollied' 
and got himself thoroughly hated by all. 

Back on the gridiron. Coach Driscoll called 
Myron from the bench and fixed him with a cal¬ 
culating eye. Myron had visions of clearing out 
his locker and retiring from football affairs. But 
what the coach said was: ‘‘Cummins tells me he 
had you at full-back the other day. Ever played 
there 

“No, sir, not until Friday.” 

“You’re a half, aren’t you? Well, we’ve got 
plenty of those, such as they are. Think you could 
learn full-back? Ever done,any punting?” 

“Some, yes, sir.” 

“Get a ball and show me.” 


MYRON GETS HIS CHANCE 217 

Over on the second gridiron, with a substitute 
back to catch or chase, Myron swung his foot and 
dropped the ball and saw it go oft at a tangent, 
and heard the coach say: “Take your time, 
Foster; you’ve got all day.” When the back had 
relayed the pigskin from the first team gridiron 
and Myron had it again in his hands he decided to 
try to forget that the coach was watching. The 
result was much better, for the ball went straight 
toward the other goal and into the waiting arms 
of the back. The punt wasn’t long, but it had 
been true, and Mr. Driscoll nodded hopefully. 

“Try it again,” he ordered, “and hold your 
leg straighter. Lock your knee and keep it 
so.” 

After the next attempt he called down the field. 
“Where did you catch that, Morton?” he asked. 
The back turned and counted the lines. 

“About the forty, sir,” he shouted. 

“Not bad,” commented the coach. “We’re on 
the twenty-five here. Try a low one now. And 
follow through with your foot. Don’t stop when 
you strike the ball: keep your foot going right 
on up: there’s plenty of room for it!” 

Pour more punts^ varying in distance from a 
wretched twenty yards to a glorious forty-five, 
followed, Myron seeking to profit by the coach’s 


218 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


instructions. Then: guess that’s enough, 

Foster,” said Mr. Driscoll. ‘‘You’ll stand a lot 
of practice, but you’ve got a good swing and I 
wouldn’t be surprised if you could make a pretty 
fair punter. I’ll give you a chance to show what 
you can do at full-back. If you buckle down and 
try hard you’ll stand a chance of a place, for we 
need another man there. Wish you had about 
ten more pounds on you, though. Go around 
with Warren’s squad over there for a while and 
watch how Houghton does it. I’ll see you 
again.” 

Blanket-wrapped, for Billy Goode had sharp 
eyes for his charges and the weather had turned 
colder overnight, Myron followed the first team 
substitutes in their signal practice for a good 
twenty minutes. Now and then he caught Chas 
Cummins’ eye as the squad trotted by, but that 
youth’s expression was blank and innocent. Fi¬ 
nally the benches filled again, coach and captain 
and manager compared notes like three gentle¬ 
man burglars meditating a midnight sortie, the 
trainer busied himself with blankets and the 
sparse audience on the stand kicked their feet 
against the boards to put warmth into them. 
Then Mr. Driscoll faced the benches. 

“First and second squads,” he called. “First 


MYRON GETS HIS CHANCE 219 

will kick off. Second, take this goal. Who’s 
playing right half for the second? You, Robbins? 
Well, we want you on the first. Morton, you go 
to the second. All right now? What’s that, 
Grove? Left tackle? Oh, all right. Simkins! 
Go in on the first: left tackle. All right, Hersey! 
Start it up!” 

Myron wondered if the coach had forgotten his 
promise, for Williams was playing full-back on the 
first squad and Houghton on the second and he, 
Myron, was adorning the bench with some twenty- 
odd other subs. Perhaps Mr. Driscoll had changed 
his mind, thought Myron. At that moment Chas 
called to him and led him down the side-line a 
ways. ‘^Drop your blanket, old chap,” he said. 
‘‘Coach says I’m to pass you a few, though I’m 
blessed if I know how he expects me to work in 
a pair of trousers that are two inches too small 
for me! Get over there by the end of the stand. 
If you miss them you won’t have to chase them so 
far. Now then, perhaps you know that in the 
modern game of football, the full-back is called on 
to take the snap-back straight from the centre on 
numerous occasions. Well, I’m the gentlemanly 
centre for the nonce. That’s a bully word, ‘nonce.^ 
Now we will suppose”—Chas’ voice diminished 
to a murmur as he turned his back and placed the 


220 


PULL-BACK FOSTER 


ball lie had brought on the sod before him. Myron 
spread his hands as he had seen Houghton do, 
Chas cast a backward glance at him and swept 
the ball toward him. By leaping two feet off the 
earth Myron was just able to tip it with his 
fingers. Chas laughed delightedly. 

^^Gee, that’s just like Cantrell does it!” he 
exulted. ‘‘In fact, I believe I got it two or three 
inches higher than he ever did. Guess I’ll get 
Driscoll to let me play centre!” 

Myron recovered the ball and tossed it back. 
“Maybe I’d better get a soap-box or something 
to stand on,” he suggested. 

“None of your lip, my lad! Watch your step, 
now!” 

This time the ball came straight and shoulder 
high, and Myron caught it, shifted it to the crook’ 
of his left arm and dived forward. “Splendidly 
done, old chap!” applauded Chas. “Quite pro¬ 
fessional. Any one can play full-back if he has a 
good centre like me to pass to him, though. Now, 
then, here we go again! ’ ’ 

Chas kept it up until he was red in the face from 
stooping and Myron was tired of it, and only 
stopped, as he said, because he had heard a sus¬ 
picious ripping sound in the neighbourhood of 
his waist. “It’s all right,” he explained a trifle 


MYRON GETS HIS CHANCE 221 

breathlessly, ‘Ho die for your school, but no one 
wants to bust his trousers for it!^^ 

On the way back to the bench Myron said: 
“What did you mean in your note about Fortune, 
Cummins ? I didnT get that. Sorry I was out, by 
the way.’’ 

“I meant that things were coming our way, 
old chap. Didn’t you observe what a mess of 
things Steve Kearns made Saturdayr’ 

“Not especially. I guess I wasn’t watching 
Kearns much.” 

“And you grooming for his place! What do 
you know about you! Well, poor old Steve balled 
up everything he tried. Every time he got the 
ball he lost a yard. If they’d turned him around 
he’d have won the game for us! Between you and 
me and the bucket there, Foster, you’ve got the 
chance of a life-time to land on all four feet right 
square behind the first team. All you’ve got to 
do is show horse-sense, old chap, and be willing 
to learn. By the way, you got off a couple of nice 
punts over there.” 

“I don’t see, though, why I couldn’t have had 
a show at half,” said Myron dubiously. “I don’t 
know enough about playing full-back, Cummins. 
I may make an awful mess of it.” 

“If you, do,” was the grim reply, “I’ll knock 


222 


FULL-BACK FOSTEE 


the feathers off you. But you won ^t. You musn’t. 
Doggone it, son, this is your big chance! You’ve 
just got to make good! Eemember there’s an¬ 
other year coming!” 

“I’ll try, of course, Cummins, but-” 

“But me no buts! You keep in mind—There’s 
Driscoll calling you. Go to it, old chap!” 

“Go in on the second there at full-back, Foster. 
You know the signals, don’t you? All right. Now 
show something. Warren, give your full-back 
some work. Come on, first! Get into it! Let’s 
see some playing!” 

The whistle piped before Myron had settled into 
position, however, and he went back to the bench 
with the rest and listened to criticism and instruc¬ 
tion and moistened his throat with water and half 
wished that Chas Cummins had let him alone. 
But, back on the field presently, with the ball arch¬ 
ing away overhead, he forgot his stage-fright and 
gripped his nose-guard with his teeth and piled 
into the play. Warren, acting on instructions, 
gave him plenty of work, and he didn’t do it so 
badly, all things considered. At least, he made 
three good gains and he got away two punts, one 
of which surprised him. On defence he showed 
up decidedly well, and Warren, an earnest little 
shock-headed youth, gave him praise more than 


223 


MYRON GETS HIS CHANCE 

once. He had some bad moments, as when, hall 
in hand for a toss to O’Curry across the line, he 
found himself besieged by two rampant first team 
forwards who had somehow broken through, and, 
unable to heave, let himself be forced back many 
yards. Afterwards, he told himself aggrievedly 
that Warren had no right to call on him for a 
forward-pass, that he had never had much of it to 
do and couldn’t be expected to be proficient. Be¬ 
sides, if your line let the whole opposing team 
through on top of you, what could, you do, any¬ 
way? 

How Coach Driscoll had been impressed, Myron 
had no means of knowing. The coach made no 
comments. Myron concluded that he had failed to 
make good, and he dressed himself and went back 
to Sohmer in a rather depressed state of mind. 
But after supper Chas breezed in and relieved 
him. ‘‘Rotten? Nothing of the sort!” declared 
Chas. “You were positively good, old chap! I’ll 
bet Driscoll is scratching Houghton this minute 
and writing ‘Foster’ in his little red book. If you 
don’t find yourself playing full-back again to¬ 
morrow I’ll—I’ll eat my hat. And I need it, 
too, having none other. You didn’t see our young 
friend, did you, Dobbins?” 

“No,” answered Jpe. “I wasn’t out.” 


224 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


^‘Well, he’s the coming marvel. There’s no 
doubt about it. All he’s got to do is learn the 
position.” 

Joe and Myron laughed, the former the more 
merrily. ^‘That sounds sort of like a real job,” 
he commented. 

isn’t, really,” answered Chas earnestly. 
‘‘You see, Foster knows all the moves but he 
doesn’t know where to fit them in. After all, play¬ 
ing football is playing football, whether you’re in 
the line or back of it, Dobbins. I’ll bet that, if 1 
had to, I could step into any position on the team 
tomorrow and get by with it. I don’t say I’d be 
a wonder, but I’d do the trick fairly well. That 
may sound like conceited gutf, but it’s a fact, fel¬ 
lows. Foster’s played half, and a full-back’s only 
a half with another name and a few different 
things to do. He’ll learn in a week. I’ve got all 
my money on him to win. I’m tickled, too. When 
Foster came to me and asked if I thought he 
could play full-back-” 

“When I gasped Myron. 

Chas winked and frowned. “When he sprung 
that on me, Dobbins, I had my doubts. But I said 
the right thing. I said, ‘ Go to it, my boy, and good 
luck to you!’ I’m glad I did. We surely need 
more full-backs than we’ve got, and I believe 


MYRON GETS HIS CHANCE 


225 


Foster’s going to be a good one. Well, I’m off. 
By the way, Dobbins, you played a pretty game 
Saturday. I’ll have to watch my step or you’ll 
have me on the bench. Good night I” 


CHAPTER XIX 


DOCTOK LANE INTEKVENES 

Chas Cummins proved a good prophet. On the 
following day Myron slipped into a niche in the 
first team, one of many hopeful, hard-working 
youths known as first team subs.’’ For a few 
days, indeed, until after the Phillipsburg game, he 
was dazed by the sudden leap from obscurity to 
conspicuity, from what he termed neglect to what 
was extremely like solicitude. Not that his ar¬ 
rival at the field for practice was the occasion for 
shouts of acclaim and a fanfare of trumpets, for 
those at the helm did not show their interest in 
promising candidates in any such manner, but 
at last he was quite certain that coach and captain, 
managers and trainer, were aware of his existence. 
There were times when he heartily wished that 
they knew less of it. Some one was forever at 
his elbow, criticising, explaining, exhorting. 
Coach Driscoll and Ned Garrison oversaw his 
punting practice. Snow lugged him to remote 
corners of the playfield to make him catch passes, 
Katie drilled him in signals, every one, it seemed 
236 


DOCTOR LANE INTERVENES 227 


to Myron, was having a finger in his pie. And 
wdien he was not being privately coached, as it 
were, he was legging it around the gridiron with 
the substitutes or tumbling about the dummy pit 
with a bundle of stuffed and dirty canvas clasped 
to his bosom. Those were busy, confusing days. 
And yet no one outside the football inner ring’’ 
appeared to be aware of the fact that a new light 
had arisen in the Parkinson firmament. Not un¬ 
naturally, perhaps, Myron looked for signs of 
interest, even of awe, from his acquaintances, but 
he found none. At table in dining hall Eldredge 
still glowered at him, Rogers cringed and the 
pestiferous Tinkham poked sly fun. Only Joe and 
Andrew and Chas, among his friends, showed him 
honour; and Joe as a strewer of blossoms in his 
path was not an overwhelming success. eJoe 
seemed to think that his chum’s leap to incipient 
fame was pleasing but not remarkable, while 
Myron was absolutely certain that it was stupen¬ 
dous and unparalleled in the annals of prepara¬ 
tory school football. Wlien you are watched and 
guided as Myron was by those in command you are 
likely to think that. He wondered whether Joe 
was not just a little bit envious. Of course, Joe’s 
position was quite as assured as his own, but Joe 
had not engaged the time and attention and solici- 


228 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


tude of the entire coaching force. He hoped Joe 
wasnT going to be disagreeable about it. 

Phillipsburg came and went, defeated easily 
enough, 12 points to 3, and Warne High School 
followed a week later. High School always put 
up a good tight against Parkinson, and she made 
no exception this year. Coach Driscoll used many 
substitutes that afternoon and so High School 
found her work easier. Myron had his baptism by 
fire in the second period and lasted until the end 
of the third. He was taken out then because High 
School had tied the score and it was necessary 
to add another touchdown or field-goal to the home 
team’s side of the ledger. So Kearns, who was 
still the most dependable full-back in sight, took 
Myron’s place. Kearns gained and lost in his 
usual way, and had no great part in the securing 
of the third Parkinson score. Katie was mainly 
responsible for that, for he sneaked away from 
the opponent’s thirty-two yards and landed the 
ball on her eight, from whence it was carried over 
on the fourth down by Brounker. That made the 
figures 20 to 14, and there they remained for the 
rest of the contest. 

Myron was huffy about being removed and 
every one who spoke to him discovered the fact. 
Of course, he was huffy in a perfectly gentlemanly 


DOCTOR LANE INTERVENES 229 

way. He didnT scold and he didn’t sneer, but he 
indulged in irony and intimated that if football 
affairs continued to be managed as they had been 
that afternoon he would refuse to be held responsi¬ 
ble if the season ended in defeat. Oddly enough, 
no one appeared panic-stricken at the veiled 
threat. Joe grinned, until Myron looked haughty 
and insulted, and then became grave and spoke 
his mind. He had an annoying way of doing that, 
to Myron’s way of thinking. 

‘‘Kiddo,” said Joe, on this occasion, ‘‘if I was 
you I’d let Driscoll and Mellen run things their 
own way. Maybe their way don’t always look good 
to you, but you aren’t in possession of all the— 
the facts, so to speak. Wlien they put in Kearns 
today they had a reason, believe me. Brother. You 
attend to your knitting and let theirs alone. If 
they drop a stitch, it’s their funeral, not yours. 
You’ve got just about all you can do to beat 
Kearns and Williams for full-back’s position-” 

“I’m ahead of Williams right now,” said Myron 
with asperity. 

“All right, kiddo; you stay there. Don’t get 
highfaluting and swell-headed. Just as soon as 
you do you’ll quit playing your best and Williams¬ 
’ll slip past you. Take an old man’s advice. 
Brother.” 


230 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘I wish you’d stop that ‘Brother/ ’’ said Myron 
pettishly. “I^m not your brother. And I’m not 
swell-headed, either. And I don’t try to tell 
Driscoll how to run the team. Only, when I know 
my own—my own capabilities I naturally think 
something’s sort of funny when things happen like 
what happened today!” 

“Lots of funny things happen that we can’t 
account for in this world,” remarked Joe philo¬ 
sophically as he bent over his book again. “Best 
thing to do is let ’em happen. ’ ’ 

“Oh, rats!” muttered the other. 

It was about this time that Myron began to have 
fallings-out with Old Addie. Old Addie—he 
wasn’t phenomenally old, by any means, but he 
seemed old in a faculty composed of young or 
youngish men—was well-liked, and kindly and just 
to a fault. But he had views on the importance of 
Greek and Latin not held by all members- of his 
classes. He believed that Herodotus was the 
greatest man who ever lived and Horace the great¬ 
est poet, and held that an acquaintance with the 
writings of these and other departed masters was 
an essential part of every person’s education. 
Many disagreed with him. Those who disagreed 
and kept the fact to themselves got on very nicely. 
, Those who were so misguided as to disagree and 


DOCTOR LANE INTERVENES 231 

say so earned his pitying contempt; although con¬ 
tempt is perhaps too strong a word. Myron in a 
rash moment confessed that Latin didn’t interest 
him. He had to think up on the spur of the 
moment some plausible excuse for being illy pre¬ 
pared, and that excuse seemed handy. The result 
was unfortunate. There was a meeting in Mr. Ad- 
dicks ’ study in the evening, a meeting that lasted 
for an hour and a quarter and that included read¬ 
ings from the Latin poets, essayists and histo¬ 
rians, sometimes in translation, more often in the 
original. Myron, bored to tears, at last capitu¬ 
lated. He owned that Latin was indeed a beauti¬ 
ful language, that Livy was a wonder, Cicero a 
peach and Horace a corker. He didn’t use just 
those terms, but that’s a detail. Mr. Addicks, 
suspicious of the sudden conversion, pledged him 
to a reformation in the matter of study and freed 
him. 

But the conversion was not real and Old Addie 
soon developed a most embarrassing habit of call¬ 
ing on Myron in class. Myron called it ^‘picking 
on me.” Whatever it was called, it usually re¬ 
sulted disastrously to Myron’s pretences of hav¬ 
ing studied in the manner agreed on. Old Addie 
waxed sarcastic, Myron assumed a haughty, con¬ 
temptuous air. They became antagonistic and 


232 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


trouble brewed. Myron didn’t have enough time 
to do justice to all his courses, he declared to Joe, 
and since Latin was the least liked and the most 
troublesome it was Latin that suffered. There 
is no doubt that two and a half hours—often more 
—of football leaves a chap more inclined for bed 
than study. Not infrequently Myron went to sleep 
with his head on a book and had to be forcibly 
wrested from slumber by Joe at ten o’clock or 
thereabouts. So matters stood at the end of 
Myron’s first fortnight of what might be called in¬ 
tensive football training. So, in fact, they con¬ 
tinued to stand, with slight changes, to the morn¬ 
ing of the day on which Parkinson played Day and 
Robins School. 

The team was to travel away from home for 
that contest and Myron was to go with it, not as 
a spectator, but as a useful member of the force. 
He did not go, however. At chapel his name was 
among a list of seven others recited by the Princi¬ 
pal, and at eleven he was admitted to the inner 
sanctum, behind the room in which he had, a month 
and a half ago, held converse with Mr. Morgan. 
This time it was ‘‘Jud” himself who received 
him. The Principal’s real name was Judson, but 
at some earlier time in his incumbency of the 
office he had been dubbed Jud, and in spite of the 


DOCTOR LANE INTERVENES 233 

possible likelihood of getting him confused with 
the captain of the football team, he was still so 
called. Doctor Lane taught English, but his 
courses were advanced and Myron had not reached 
them. In consequence he knew very little of Jud; 
much less than Jud knew of him; and he felt a 
certain amount of awe as he took the indicated 
chair at the left of the big mahogany desk. The 
Doctor didn’t beat about the bush any to speak of. 
He advanced at once to the matter in hand, which 
appeared to be: Wliy wasn’t Myron keeping up 
in Latin? 

Myron said he thought it must be because he 
didn’t have time enough to study it. He said if 
was his firm belief that he was taking too many 
courses. He thought that it would be better if he 
was allowed to drop one course, preferably Latin, 
until the next term. Doctor Lane smiled wanly 
and wanted to know if Myron was quite sure that 
he was making the most of what time he had. 
Myron said he thought he was. He didn’t say it 
very convincedly, however. Doctor Lane inquired 
how much time each day was devoted to Latin. 
Myron didn’t seem to have a very clear impres¬ 
sion; perhaps, though, an hour. Jud delved into 
the boy’s daily life and elicited the fact that some¬ 
thing like two and a half hours were devoted to 


234 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


learning to play full-back and something less than 
three to learning his lessons. Presented as Jud 
presented it, the fact didn’t look attractive even to 
Myron. He felt dimly that something was wrong. 
He attempted to better his statement by explain¬ 
ing that very often he studied between hours—a 
little. Doctor Lane was not impressed. He twid¬ 
dled a card that appeared to hold a record of 
Myron’s scholastic career for a moment and then 
pronounced a verdict. 

“Foster, as I diagnose your case, you are too 
much interested in football and not sufficiently 
in your studies. Also, football is claiming too 
much of your time. Football is a splendid game 
and a beneficent form of exercise, but it is not the 
—what I may call the chief industry here, Foster. 
We try to do other things besides play football. 
Perhaps you have lost sight of that fact.” 

Jud let that sink in for a moment and returned 
the card to its place in an indexed cabinet, closing 
the drawer with a decisive hang that made Myron 
jump. 

“So,” continued the Principal drily, “I think 
it will be best if you detach yourself from football 
interests for—for awhile, Foster.” 

Silence ensued. Myron gulped. Then he asked 
in a small voice: “How long, sir?” 


DOCTOR LANE INTERVENES 235 

‘‘Oh, we won’t decide that now.” Jud’s voice 
and manner struck Myron as being far too bright 
and flippant. “We’ll see how it works out. I’ve 
known it to work very nicely in many cases. I 
shall expect to hear better—much better—accounts 
of you from Mr. Addicks, Foster. Good morn¬ 
ing.” 

And that is why Myron didn’t go bowling off 
to the station with the rest of the team, and why 
Kearns and Houghton played the full-back posi¬ 
tion that afternoon, and why, after a miserable 
six hours spent in mooning about a deserted 
campus and a lonely room, Myron packed a suit¬ 
case with a few of his yellow-hued shirts and simi¬ 
lar necessities and unobtrusively made his way to 
Maple Street in the early gloom of the October 
evening. 


CHAPTER XX 


ANDY TAKES A JOURNEY 

At a few minutes past eight that evening Joe 
clattered hurriedly up the stairs of the house in 
Mill Street and thumped imperatively at Andrew’s 
door. Just why he thumped didn’t appear, since 
he threw the door open without waiting for per¬ 
mission. Andrew looked up inquiringly from his 
book in the yellow radius of light around the 
table. 

Hello,” he greeted. ‘‘Slide under the bed 
and maybe they won’t find you.” 

“It’s that idiot, Myron,” announced Joe breath¬ 
lessly, and sank into a chair. 

“What’s he done nowT’ asked Andrew inter¬ 
estedly. 

“Bolted!” 

“Bolted?” 

“Beat it—vamoosed—lit out—gone!” 

“Where? What for?” 

“I don’t know where, but he’s gone. I sup¬ 
pose he’s headed home. He’s in wrong at the 
Office over Latin, and this morning Hoc Lane told 
him to quit football. He was to have gone along 
236 


ANDY TAKES A JOURNEY 237 

with us to play Day and Robins, you know, and 
was all keyed up about it. I didn’t get many of 
the details: only saw him for about three minutes 
just before we left: but he was talking then about 
firing himself and hiring out to Kenwood for the 
rest of the year.” 

Andrew frowned. ‘‘A sweet thought,” he mur¬ 
mured sarcastically. 

^^Oh, he wouldn’t do it,” said Joe. ‘‘He likes 
to talk like that, but he’s all right behind his 
mouth.” 

“I hope so. Where—when did he go?” 

“Search me. I know he was gone when I got 
back at six, or a little before. I thought, of course, 
that he was around somewhere; probably at 
Alumni. But he wasn’t at dinner and he didn’t 
show up afterwards, and I remembered his line 
of talk this morning and got to snooping around 
and found his suit-case gone and some of his 
things; brushes and sponge and the like of those.” 

“Maybe he got leave to go home over Sunday.” 

“I thought of that and found out from Mr. 
Hoyt. Had to be careful so he wouldn’t get sus¬ 
picious, but I got away with it, I guess. He hasn’t 
asked for leave; and wouldn’t have got it anyway, 
I guess. No, he’s just plain beat it.” 

Andrew whistled softly and expressively. 


238 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘That fixes him/’ he said regretfully. “On top 
of probation-” 

“That’s the point,” urged Joe. “He’s dished 
for fair if faculty gets wind of it. That’s why 
I came. 1 can’t go. I asked Driscoll and he said 
nothing doing. So it’s up to you, Andy.” 

“Up to me? Go? Where?” 

“Go after him and bring him back,” answered 
Joe. “I looked up trains. He probably waited 
until after dark, because he wouldn’t have risked 
being seen with a suit-case, and if he did he must 
have taken the six-eighteen for New York. 
There’s no train for Port Foster out of Philadel¬ 
phia until seven-twelve tomorrow morning. He 
might stay in New York overnight or go on to 
Philadelphia, so the best way’ll be to go right 
through to Philadelphia and watch the Port Foster 
trains.” 

Andrew stared amazedly. “Look here, Joe,” 
he said, “are you suggesting that I go to Phila¬ 
delphia after Myron?” 

“Sure,” answered Joe impatiently. “What 
did you suppose? And you’ll have to get a hustle 
on, too: it’s about eight-fifteen now and your 
train goes at nine-five. I’d go in a minute, but I’m 
in training and the rule’s strict, and if I got 
caught—fare thee well!” 


i 


ANDY TAKES A JOURNEY 239 

To Joe’s surprise, Andrew began to laugh. 
‘^Well, you’re a wonder, Joe,” he gasped. ‘‘Why, 
man alive, I can’t go traipsing all over the United 
States like that! I’m beastly sorry for Myron, 
but-” 

“Why can’t you?” demanded Joe, scowling. 
“Some one’s got to, and that’s flat. If he’s 
caught away from school without permission 
they’ll chuck him as sure as shooting. Why do 
you say you can’t go, Andy?” 

“Why—why, for one reason, I can’t afford it, 
you idiot! How much do you think it’ll cost to 
go to Philadelphia and back? I’m no million¬ 
aire! Why-” 

“I thought of that.” Joe pulled a roll of bills 
from his trousers pocket and flung it on the table. 
“There’s twenty-five, all I have right now. It’s 
enough, I guess.” 

Andrew stared at the money in surprise. 
“Well—but—look here, I’ve got an engagement 
in the morning. And how do you know I can get 
leave?” 

“Take it! No one’ll know you’re away,” said 
Joe. “Gosh, we’ve got to risk something!” 

“TFe have? You mean 1 have, don’t you?” 

“Oh, what’s the difference? Myron’s a friend, 
ain’t he, and we can’t let him go and kill himself 


240 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


off like this without making a try, can we? Be¬ 
sides, the team needs him bad. If he’d hung on a 
bit longer he’d have been full-back and—and 
everything! I—I’d like to wring his silly 
neck I ’ ’ 

Andrew smiled. Then he stared thoughtfully 
at the table. At last he seized the roll of money, 
thrust it in his pocket and pushed back his chair. 
“Guess you’re right, Joe,” he said. “What time 
did you say the train goes?” 

“Nine-five.” Joe jerked out his watch. 
“You’ve got forty minutes. Better pack a tooth¬ 
brush and a night-shirt, kiddo.” 

“Pack nothing,” replied Andrew. “A tooth¬ 
brush and a comb will see me through, and those 
go in my pocket. I want that brown book, though, 
and some sheets of paper. Better have my fountain 
pen, too. You’ll have to take a message to W^ynant, 
29 Williams, for me, Joe. Better do it tonight. 
Tell him I’m called away and can’t be around in 
the morning. I’ll see him when I get back. Now, 
what about the dogs? Mind coming around in the 
morning and letting them out and feeding them? 
Good! We’re off, then.” 

Andrew turned out the light and they fumbled 
their way to the door. Outside, Andrew gave the 
key to Joe. “Don’t forget the dogs, Joe,” he re- 


ANDY TAKES A JOUENEY 


241 


minded. ^‘Now, then, tell me again abont these 
trains. It’s Philadelphia I’m going to, is it?” 

Joe explained carefully as they hurried through 
the illy-lighted streets toward the station. ‘‘Bet¬ 
ter get to Philadelphia by the first train you can 
make, Andy. You can sleep on the way, some. 
The first Sunday train for Port Foster leaves 
Philadelphia at twelve minutes past seven. There 
isn’t another until ten-something. He may wait 
for that. You ’ll have to watch for him on the plat¬ 
form. For the love of mud, Andy, don’t miss 
him!” 

“I won’t!” answered the other grimly as they 
entered the station. “Wait here a minute. I’m 
going to call up the Office.” 

“The Office!” exclaimed Joe aghast. “What 
for?” 

“To get permission.” 

“But-” 

“I know. I won’t. Here, you buy the ticket. 
Gret it to Philadelphia and return if you can. I’ll 
be right with you.” 

Andrew was as good as his word. Joe viewed 
him anxiously. “Did you get it?” he asked. 

Andrew nodded. “Yes. I told Mr. Hoyt I had 
to be away overnight on important matters. He 
hemmed a bit at first, but finally came around. 


242 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

So that’s all right. I feel rather better for hav¬ 
ing faculty’s blessing, Joe.” Ten minutes later 
the long train rolled in and Andrew climbed 
aboard. He was going into a day coach, but Joe 
pulled him back and hurried him down the plat¬ 
form, past a hundred lighted windows and hustled 
him into a parlour-car. ‘‘Might as well be as com¬ 
fortable as you can,” he explained. “You can 
get a pretty fair nap in one of those chairs if you 
don’t mind waking up with a broken neck! Good¬ 
bye and good luck, Andy!” 

“Good-bye. See you tomorrow afternoon or 
evening. Don’t forget Tess and the puppies!” 

Then the train pulled out and Joe heaved a 
sigh of relief and made his way back to the campus 
and Williams Hall and the indignant Mr. 
Wynant. 

About the same time Coach Driscoll and Cap¬ 
tain Mellen were talking things over in the 
former’s lodgings. Parkinson had played smooth, 
hard football that afternoon, bringing encourage¬ 
ment to both, and their countenances still reflected 
satisfaction. “Looks as though we had struck 
our gait at last, Cap,” said Mr. Driscoll, puffing 
comfortably at his pipe. 

“It does look so,” agreed Jud. “It’s time, too, 
jvith only two more games before Kenwood.” 


ANDY TAKES A JOUENEY 243 

“Well, I’d rather see a team come slowly and 
not reach the peak too early in the season. I^m 
more afraid of slumps than the smallpox, Mellen. 
Eemember year before last’s experience?” 

Jud nodded. ‘‘If we can hold it where it is, 
Coach, we’ll be all right, I guess. Some of the 
fellows certainly played themselves proud today: 
•Keith and Meldrum and Norris——” 

“And Mellen,” suggested Mr. Driscoll, smiling 
through the smoke. 

“I guess I didn’t do so badly,” Jud allowed. 
“But that Dobbins was the corker, when you 
come right down to br^ss tacks, don’t you think 
so?” 

“Dobbins played as remarkable a game as I’ve 
seen in a long, long time,” was the reply. “The 
way he opened holes in the D. and E. line was 
pretty. They weren’t holes, either, they were— 
were nice, broad boulevards! A stick of dynamite 
wouldn’t have made more of a mess of their 
centre!” 

“And he’s all there on defence, too,” said Jud. 
“Steady as a concrete wall. He and Keith work 
like twins.” 

“Pretty,” agreed Mr. Driscoll. “I guess 
there’s no question as to who’ll play right guard 
against Kenwood. I wush, though, I knew who 


244 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


was going to play full-back/^ Mr. Driscoll 
frowned. “You^re sure Foster’s out of it?” 

‘‘Fairly. I only know wliat you know. I 
haven’t seen him. I’m not surprised, though. He 
was beginning to show a good deal of side and you 
know yourself that when a fellow gets his head 
swelled he comes a cropper one way or 
another.” 

“I know. Still, we mustn’t be too hard on the 
boy, for we’ve paid him a good deal of attention 
and that’s likely to turn a chap’s head unless it’s 
screwed on pretty tightly. And we’ve worked him 
hard, too. Maybe he hasn’t had time to do enough 
studying.” 

“Well, he’s out of it, anyway. It’s hard luck, 
for I thought he was coming along finely. I guess 
it will have to be Kearns, after all.” 

The coach nodded. “I haven’t lost hope of 
Kearns yet. Cap. He’s got it in him to play good 
football. I was wondering, though, if we could 
spare Brounker for the position. He’s a good 
half, but we may not need him there, and perhaps 
with some coaching between now and three weeks 
from now he’d be better than Kearns.” 

“I suppose there’s a chance of Foster getting 
clear before the Kenwood game,” said Jud doubU 
fully, “but he wouldn’t be much use to us,” 


ANDY TAKES A JOURNEY ' 245 

Mighty littlereplied the coach. ‘‘Of course, 
if he was off only a week it would be different. In 
that case we could take him back and have him 
handy in case Kearns went bad. But I donT 
know- 

“I guess I’d better see him in the morning and 
find out what the prospects are. If he will saw 
wood and get rid of his conditions, or whatever 
his trouble is, by a week from Monday-” 

“Yes, tell him that. Brow-beat him a bit. Get 
him on his mettle. I’ll see him, if you think it 
would be better.” 

“I’ll take a fall out of him first,” said Jud. 
“By the way, he and Dobbins room together. It 
might be a good scheme to get Dobbins after him. 
I guess they’re pretty close from what I hear, 
and maybe he’d listen to Dobbins when he 
wouldn’t to me. Well, anyway, I think we can 
lick Kenwood this year even without a full-back,” 
he ended. 

Mr. Driscoll smiled and shook his head. “Let’s 
not be too sure, Mellen,” he said. “Wait until the 
Sunday papers come. Six to six sounds pretty 
good for Phillipsburg, but we don’t know yet 
how many of her subs Kenwood used. That coach 
of hers is a foxy chap, and it may be that he 
was satisfied to get away with a tie and leave us 


246 


FULL-BACK FOSTEE 


guessing. Perhaps he thought we had scouts 
over there today, looking them over.’^ 

“I sort of wish we had had,” said Jud. ‘^Oh, 
I know your idea on the subject. Coach, and I’m 
not saying you aren’t right, but, just the same, 
it’s a handicap. Kenwood sends fellows to watch 
our playing and gets lots of useful information. 
I’ll bet, and we have to depend on what the papers 
tell us. And most of that guff is written by fel¬ 
lows friendly to Kenwood. If the Kenwood coach 
wants the news to go out that the team is rotten, 
it goes out, and we have to swallow it. I’d give 
a hundred dollars to see her play Montrose next 
Saturday!” 

‘‘That’s high pay for acting the spy,” replied 
the coach gravely. “See here, Jud Mellen, you’re 
a fair and square, decent sort, from all I’ve seen 
of you, and I’ve known you for three years. You 
wouldn’t pick a pocket or lie, and I’ve never yet 
seen you doing any dirty work in a game. Then 
just how would you explain it to your conscience 
if you went over to Kenwood next Saturday with 
the idea of seeing how much information you could 
get hold of regarding Kenwood’s plays and signals 
and so on?” 

“But, gosh ding it, Mr. Driscoll, I wouldn’t 


ANDY TAKES A JOURNEY 247 

wear a false moustache and all that! I wouldn’t 
sneak in, I’d go openly. There’s no reason why 
I shouldn’t see Kenwood play a game of football 
just because I happen to play with Parkinson!” 

“Not if just being entertained was what you 
were there for, Cap,” answered the other. “But 
it wouldn’t be. You’d be a spy, and you know 
it, old son. That’s what I object to. When the 
time comes that it is an understood and mutually 
agreed on thing that members of one football team 
are welcome to see another team play, why, then 
I won’t make a yip. But you know how we love 
to get word here from the gate that a Kenwood 
scout has gone in! We cut out new plays and try 
to look worse than we are.” 

“You mean we would if you’d let us,” laughed 
Jud. 

“You do it, anyhow,” said the coach, smiling. 
“I’ve watched you too often. The last time we 
had visitors I asked Cater why he didn’t use a 
certain play in front of the other fellow’s goal 
and get a score and he looked innocent and said 
he’d forgot it. No, we’ll get along without that 
sort of stutf, Mellen, while I’m here. I don’t like 
it a bit.” 

“Well, I said you were right,” Jud laughed. 


248 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘I just had to have my little kick. Hello, nearly 
ten! I must leg it. I’ll see Foster in the morn¬ 
ing; Dobbins, too; and let you know what I learn. 
Good night, Coach.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


AN EAKLY MOENING CALL 

But Jud didnT see Myron in the morning, for the 
reason that we* know of. Only Joe was in Number 
17 when the football captain knocked, and Joe was 
not telling all he knew. According to him, Foster 
was ^‘out just now^' and the time of his return 
was most uncertain. Joe ‘^had an idea’’ that his 
friend was dining away from school. Jud said 
that it didn’t matter much and that he’d see 
Foster later. Then: 

‘‘Maybe you know how bad he’s fixed with the 
Office, Whoa I” he suggested. 

“I don’t,” replied Joe, “for he hasn’t said 
much to me about it. I know that it’s Latin that’s 
troubling him, though. He’s been in wrong with 
Addicks for a couple of weeks. Fact is. Cap, Myron 
hasn’t been putting in enough time on study. He 
falls to sleep at the table there about every other 
night. Guess he’s been getting a bit too much 
exercise.” 

“Yes, we’ve worked him pretty steadily. Too 
bad, for, between you and me, he was doing mighty 
249 


250 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

well and looked awfully good. I wonder if you 
can’t find out what the prospects are, Whoa, and 
let me know. If he could get a clean slate by a 
week from Monday, say, he might still be of some 
use to the team. He probably wouldn’t start the 
Kenwood game, but it’s a fair bet he’d get in for 
part of it. Driscoll and I were talking about him 
last night, and I said I thought that maybe you 
could sort of jack him up; make him see that it 
is up to him to get square with the Office and get 
back to the team.” 

^^Oh, I’ll get him back if it can be done,” Joe 
assured him. ^‘1 was going to, anyway. We need 
him. Cap.” 

^^We certainly do, Whoa. See what you can 
do Avith him. Wouldn’t some tutoring help? 
There’s a chap named Merriman in town who’s a 
regular whale at it.” 

know him. I’ll have a talk with Myron 
when he comes back—in, I mean—and let you 
know. Cap. You leave him to me!” 

Jud Mellen had no more than got out of the 
building when a fearsome knock came at the 
door and Chas Cummins appeared, scowling fero¬ 
ciously. Hello,” he said. ‘‘Where’s Foster?” 

“Out just now,” replied Joe affably. “Want 
to leave a message?” 


AN EARLY MORNING CALL 251 

‘‘No—yes—Yes, tell him I say he’s to beat 
it over to my room the minute he shows up 
here!” 

“All right,” said Joe. 

Chas clung to the docxi’knob and continued to 
scowl, and studied Joe speculatively. Finally: 
“Isn’t it a mess?” he demanded. “Everything 
going like clock-work, and then, bingo—Ofh.'^er, call 
the ambulance 1 Honest, Whoa, I could kick 
Foster from here to New York and back cheer¬ 
fully, drat his hide!” 

“I wish you could kick him back,” said Joe. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Close the door, will you? Thanks. Can you 
keep a secret, Chas?” 

“Sometimes. Go on. What’s up?” 

“Myron’s gone. Went last evening.” 
“FircdF” 

“No, he just went.” 

“Left school, you mean? Well, what—do you 
know—about that?” 

“We’re trying to get him back before faculty 
gets on to it, but it doesn’t look good. Merriman’s 
on his trail. Took the nine o ’clock train last night. 
I think he’ll manage to head him off all right, but 
Myron’s a cranky, stubborn dog and may refuse 
to come back.” 


252 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


^^Any one suspect so far?’’ asked Ckas with 
knitted brows. 

^‘Don’t think so. Good thing there’s no chapel 
on Sunday, isn’t it?” 

“Merry Andrew went, you say? Good stuff I 
If any one can do the persuasion stunt, Andy can. 
Hang the beggar, wdiat’s he think, anyhow? 
Doesn’t he know he will get fired if faculty hears 
about it? And what about me?” 

“You?” asked Joe. 

“Well, I mean the team,” corrected Chas hur¬ 
riedly. “He ought to be licked! I’d do it, too, 
if it would do any good. Honest, Whoa, isn’t 
this the very limit?” 

“Way past it,” agreed Joe. “He’s a crazy 
guy for sure.” 

“When do you expect Andy back?” asked Chas 
after a moment. 

“He might make it by the five o’clock. Ought 
to be here by eight, anyway. ’ ’ 

“Well, if he doesn’t fetch him it’ll be 
good-bye to Foster for keeps! What’s wrong 
with him, anyway? Some one said he was on 
pro.” 

“Don’t know whether it’s out and out proba¬ 
tion or not,” said Joe. “Didn’t have much time 
to talk to him. But he said Doc Lane told him to 


AN EARLY MORNING CALL 253 

let football alone and get hunky with Addicks 
again.” 

‘‘Latin, eh^ I always said that language ought 
to be prohibited! It^s always getting folks into 
trouble. Well, I suppose there isn’t anything I 
can do. I -wish you’d let me know the news when 
there is any, Whoa.” 

“I will. Keep this quiet, though, Chas. You 
and Andy and I are the only ones who know, and 
it musn’t get any further. I only told you be¬ 
cause you and Myron have some game on and I 
knew you’d keep quiet.” 

“Some game on? What makes you think 
that?” asked Chas. 

“Well, I’ve got eyes and ears,” answered the 
other drily. “I’m not asking questions, though. 
So long. I’ll let you know how it comes out.” 

“Don’t forget. If I’m out leave word with 
Brown. Just say ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ I’ll understand. 
Gosh, I hope Andy fetches him, though!” 

Myron reached New York at a few minutes after 
ten on Saturday night. He had some supper on 
the way, crushed into a corner of a crowded din¬ 
ing-car, but he wasn’t hungry and ate little. On 
arrival, quick work in a taxi-cab got him across 
town in time for a train to Philadelphia that 
landed him there* just before midnight. He had 


254 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


a married cousin living in that city, but he pre¬ 
ferred to go to the quiet little hotel at which his 
mother stayed when on shopping visits. He left 
an order to be called at half-past six, luxuriated 
in a bath and crawled wearily to bed. But sleep 
was still a long way from him, and until after two 
he lay there wide-eyed and thought and thought, 
and twisted and turned. 

There may be more dismal places in the world 
than Philadelphia at six-thirty on a rainy morn¬ 
ing. If so, Myron had fortunately escaped them. 
He had left himself barely enough time to dress 
and reach the station for the seven-twelve express, 
and when, aroused by the blatant huz-z-zz of the 
telephone, he staggered to the window and looked 
out, he felt that he never could do it. That drab, 
empty stretch of wet street was the last blow to 
waning courage. Had he rested well and felt 
normally fresh he would have charged at his 
clothes, leaped into a cab and made it nicely, but 
he was in no condition of mind or body for such 
hustling methods. Besides, there were later 
trains, and he was in no hurry to face his folks, 
and the tumbled bed looked awfully good to him. 
Three minutes later he was asleep again. 

Meanwhile Andrew Merriman was slowly pac¬ 
ing the platform beside the seven-twelve train. 


AN EARLY MORNING CALL 255 

He had been there ever since the train had rolled 
sleepily into the long, gloomy shed. Keeping tabs 
on the passengers was no difficult task, for they 
were few in number and moved with dragging feet. 
Andrew had arrived in Philadelphia at half-past 
five, after an interminable ride during which he 
had huddled himself into a seat in a day-coach and 
slumbered fitfully between stops. It had been a 
glorious relief to leave that leisurely train and 
stretch his legs again. He had had breakfast at 
a nearby lunch-room, and now, all things con¬ 
sidered, was feeling very fit. A glance at his 
watch showed the time to be two minutes to seven. 
In fourteen minutes from now he would know his 
fate. He had already arranged his plans in the 
event that Myron didn’t show up for that train, 
and he would have three hours in which to carry 
them out. A portly man with two suit-cases wad¬ 
dled down the long platform and puffed himself up 
the steps of a car. Even allowing for a disguise, 
thought Andrew whimsically, that was not Myron. 
Nor w-as the next passenger, a fussy little man 
with two small boys strung out behind him who 
came so fast that Andrew half expected to see 
him ^‘snap the whip” any moment and send the 
tiniest boy hurtling through space. But he didn’t. 
He herded the children into a car and smiled 


256 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


triumpliantly at Andrew. Evidently, lie con¬ 
sidered that arriving with only five minutes to 
spare was a reckless proceeding. There were the 
usual last-moment arrivals and then the train 
reluctantly pulled out, leaving Andrew alone on 
the platform. 

Two blocks away was a hotel, and thither he 
made his way. Capturing a telephone directory, 
he found a chair by a window and turned to the 
list of hotels. There was an appalling lot of them 
and nothing to indicate which were of the sort 
likely to be patronised by Myron. But he had 
three hours before him and plenty of money, and 
was not discouraged. He took a piece of paper 
from a pocket, unscrewed his pen and set to work. 
Ten minutes later he was ready. The lobby was 
practically deserted and he had the telephone 
booths to himself. When he had exhausted all the 
nickels he had he crossed to the news-stand and 
had a dollar bill changed. Then he went on with 
his campaign. It was slow work, for many of the 
hotels were extremely deliberate in answering. 
The voices that came back to him sounded sleepy, 
and some sounded cross as well. 

‘Hs Myron Foster stopping there U’ Andrew 
would ask. 

‘‘Who! Fosdick! How do you spell it! Oh! 


AN EARLY MORNING CALL 257 

What are the initials? Hold the line, please.’’ 
Then, after a wait: ‘‘No such party registered.” 

At any rate, that is the way it went for nearly 
twenty minutes. Then luck turned. 

Myron was still slumbering when the telephone 
rang a second time. For a moment he stared at 
the ceiling, a perfectly strange ceiling that seemed 
to return his regard coldly, and strove to think 
where he was. While he was still struggling the 
impatient instrument on the table beside the bed 
buzzed again. Myron reached for it and recol¬ 
lection came to him. 

“Yes,” he said sleepily. “Hello!” 

“Gentleman to see you, Mr. Foster. Shall we 
send him up?” 

‘ ‘ Gentleman to see me! ” echoed Myron. Was it 
possible that his father had learned already of 
his departure from school and had come up from 
Port Foster? He was thoroughly awake now. 
“What is the name?” he asked. After a moment 
of silence: “Merriman,” said the voice at the 
other end. “Merriman?” thought Myron. “I 
don’t know any Merriman! Except Andy. Who 
the dickens——” 

“I didn’t hear, Mr. Foster,” said the clerk 
politely. 

<<Oh—er—all right! Ask him to come up. 


258 


FULL-BACK FOSTEE 


please/’ Myron put the receiver down, unlocked 
the door and returned to bed to hug his knees and 
stare perplexedly at the footboard. Who the 
dickens was Merriman? Of course it couldn’t be 
Andy. This was Philadelphia, and Andy was 
several hundred miles away. Well, he would soon 
know! Then came a tap at the door and Myron 
said ‘‘Come in” in an unnecessarily loud tone 
and the portal opened. Then it closed again. And 
Myron, with eyes that looked as big and as round 
as butter-chips, whispered: ''Where*d you come 
from?** 


CHAPTER XXII 


MYKON COMES BACK 

^‘Apraid I’ve spoiled yonr beauty sleep, Myron,” 
said the visitor. ‘‘ Sorry, but I’ve been up so long 
I forgot how early it was.” 

‘ ‘ What—what are you doing over here 1 ’’ gasped 
Myron. 

‘‘Looking for you, of course,” replied Andrew 
easily as he seated himself on the bed. “Nice 
quarters you’ve got. Next time, though, I wish 
you’d locate further up on the alphabet. It’s a 
long way to the M’s!” 

“Are you crazy or—or am I?” asked Myron 
helplessly. 

“Neither, I hope,” answered the visitor calmly. 
“You see, I set out to find you on the telephone 
and had to call up about twenty hotels before I 
got the right one. I started with the A’s and you, 
as it happened, were among the M’s.” 

“What did you want to find me for? Who sent 
you ?’ ’ 

“WeU, I suppose you might say that Joe sent 
me. At least, he had the idea first. After that, 
I sort of sent myself.” 


259 


260 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘You might have spared yourself the trou¬ 
ble/’ said Myron defiantly. “I’m not going 
back!” 

Apparently Andrew didn’t hear that. “Joe was 
all fussed up, like a hen who’s hatched out a duck. 
He came around about half-past eight and loaded 
me with money and handed me my hat, so to 
speak. Got in here around five-thirty. You didn’t 
show up at the station for the seven-twelve, so I 
changed my money into nickels and proceeded to 
make the telephone company enormously wealthy. 
You’ve cost me—or, rather, Joe—a lot of money, 
Myron.” Andrew shook his head sadly. “And 
I’m not sure you’re worth it, either.” 

“I didn’t ask him to spend money on me,” said 
Myron sulkily. “He hadn’t any business butting 
in, anyway. It’s my own affair. If I want to 
leave school I’ve got a right to, and-” 

“Back up! Who told you that?” 

“Told me what?” asked Myron blankly. 

“That you had a right to leave school.” 

“Why, no one told me! But it’s so!” 

“No, sir, it isn’t,” said Andrew emphatically. 
“You haven’t any more right to leave school than 
a soldier has to leave his post, or a policeman 
his beat. Not a bit more, Myron.” 

“That isn’t so,” answered the other excitedly. 


MYEON COMES BACK 261’ 

isn’t the same at all. Duty is one thing and 
—and staying where you don’t get a square deal’s 
another. My folks have a right to take me away 
from Parkinson whenever they want to!” 

“Have they taken you out?” 

“No, they don’t know yet. But they will when 
I ask them to.” 

“That’s all right, then. What your folks do is 
another matter, old man. It’s what you do that 
I’m talking about. Why do you say you haven’t 
had a square deal?” 

“Because I haven’t! Look at what Jud did 
to me! First of all, they made me take too many 
courses, courses I didn’t want to take at all, some 
of them. Then when I couldn’t keep them up just 
as—just as they think I ought to, they came down 
on me! Jud says I can’t play football. Just be¬ 
cause Addicks has it in for me. Addicks calls on 
me twice as often as any other fellow in class. I 
hate Latin, anyway. I didn’t want to take it this 
year. Next year would be time enough. Driscoll 
made me work like a slave, and I didn’t have time 
enough for all the things I’m supposed to study, 
and Jud socked it to me. I’d been trying for a 
month to get on the team, and now, just when I 
was sure of a place, Jud springs this! Call that 
a square deal ? I don’t! ” 


262 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘Well, iUs sort of tough luck, old man. How 
long are you off forT^ 

“He wouldnT tell me. Said we’d wait and see, 
or something. He can wait. I’m through.” 

“Still, I don’t see how you’re helping things 
much by running away,” said Andrew mildly. 
“If you want to play on the team you’ll have to do 
it by mail, won’t you?” 

“Oh, I’m done wanting to,” answered Myron 
roughly. “I’in done with the whole rotten place.” 

“And Joe and me? I see.” 

“I didn’t say I had anything against you and 
Joe,” retorted Myron indignantly. “Or—or 
some other fellows. The fellows are all right. It 
—it’s the school. The way they do things. They 
don’t give you a chance. They aren’t fair.” 

‘ ‘ So you even up by not being fair, too ? ” 

“What do you mean by that?” asked Myron, 
glowering. 

“Why, you get mad because you think faculty 
has treated you badly, and then you turn around 
and treat other folks badly.” 

“What other folks?” asked Myron. 

“Your friends, the football team and, through 
that, the whole school.” 

“How do you make that out?” Myron de¬ 
manded, frowning. 


MYEON COMES BACK 


263 


‘‘Well, take Joe and me, for instance. We^re 
in the picture. You let us take a liking to you, 
which we wouldn’t have done if we hadn’t thought 
you a good, square sort, the sort that does his 
duty even if it looks hard. Then when duty gets a 
bit tiresome you kick us in the shins and run away. 
Same way with the team. You went out for it and 
the coach and the rest spent time and effort on 
you. They thought you were a square sort, too. 
They wouldn’t knowingly make a poor investment 
any more than Joe and I would. Then, when you 
hit a snag, you repudiate your debt to them and 
beat it. You had a chance to make a good player 
of yourself and win a position on the team and help 
bring about a victory for the school. Because you 
get mad with Jud, you tell the school to go to the 
dickens. In other words, Myron, old man, you’re 
a quitter.” 

“I’m not!” cried the other desperately. 
“You’re making it oui all wrong! Besides, it 
wouldn’t make any difference to the school if I 
stayed. I’m out of football.” 

“I don’t see it. You’re out of football until 
you get back your class standing. The right thing 
to do is to get it back as soon as you can. It’s 
your fault that you lost it. There’s no use kidding 
yourself, Myron. You got in trouble with Addicks 


264 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


because you didn’t play fair with him. You got 
in trouble with Jud for the same reason. Now you 
won’t play fair with the rest of us. Think it 
over.” 

‘^It’s not so, Andy I I tell you I didn’t have 
time to study that beastly Latin! Joe knows I 
didn’t. I was too tired at night. I couldn’t!” 

‘‘If that’s really so you should have told Dris¬ 
coll to let up on you. But I think the trouble was 
that you didn’t make the best use of the time 
you had. You have two hours every morning, to 
my certain knowledge, when you’ve no classes, 
and I’ve never heard of you making use of them 
for study.” 

“It’s all well enough for you to preach,” re¬ 
torted Myron bitterly. “You like the wretched 
stuff! You don’t have any trouble with it. I do. 
I—even if I went back I’d never catch up in 
class.” 

“Oh, yes, you would. I’ll guarantee that. I’ll 
promise you that you’ll be in good standing with 
Addicks by next Saturday.” 

Myron stared, surprised, doubtful. “How?” 
he asked at length. 

“I’ll look after the ‘how,’ old man.” 

“You mean you’ll tutor me again?” 

Andrew nodded. Myron dropped his gaze to 


MYRON COMES BACK 


265 


the counterpane. A minute of silence followed 
during which the ticking of Myron’s watch on the 
bedside table sounded loudly in the room. Then 
said Andrew briskly: ‘‘There’s a New York train 
at ten, I think. That’ll give you time for break¬ 
fast and let us catch the one-something back. You 
get your bath and dress and I’ll go down and buy 
a paper. Don’t know but what I’ll have a bite 
more myself. My breakfast was a trifle sketchy. 
How long will you be?” 

Myron continued to study the counterpane. 
Another silence ensued. Finally, though, it was 
broken by Myron. “Twenty minutes,” he said 
in a low voice. 

It was dark when they stepped otf the train at 
Warne. As they did so a form detached itself 
from the lamp-lit gloom of the platform and a 
voice asked cautiously: “That you, Andy?” 
Then Myron felt a hand tugging at his suit-case, 
and: “Let me have it, kiddo,” said Joe. “We’ll 
go over to Andy’s and leave it there until tomor¬ 
row. Better not take any risks.” 

They skirted the end of the train, avoiding pub¬ 
licity as much as was possible, and made their 
way toward Mill Street. Only when they were a 
block from the track was the silence broken again. 
Then Andy asked: “Everything all right, Joe?” 


266 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘‘I think so. But I’m sure glad you didn’t leave 
it until the next train. I’d have had nervous 
prostration long before that! I had the dogs out 
three times and fed them. There wasn’t any¬ 
thing else to do. Maybe they’ve bust themselves 
eating, but it can’t be helped. That kid over 
in Williams—Wynant or something—has a grouch 
a mile long, Andy. You’ll have to kiss him, I 
guess, before he will ever smile again! How are 
you, kiddo?” 

‘‘All right, thanks,” answered Myron rather 
constrainedly. 

“That’s good. By the way, I had to give the 
impression that you were having dinner out some¬ 
where. So if any one mentions it you’d better play 
up.” 

“Who did you tell?” asked Myron. 

“I don’t think I exactly told any one, but I let 
Jud Mellen go away with the idea.” 

“Was he looking for me?” 

“Yeah, wanted you to hurry up and get back 
to work, ’ ’ replied Joe carelessly. ‘ ‘ I told him that 
if you weren’t back inside a week I’d bust every 
bone in your body.” 

“He will be,” said Andrew grimly. “If he 
isn’t you may bust mine!” 

Just before supper time Joe beat a tattoo on 


MYRON COMES BACK 267 

the portal of Number 16 Goss. Chas Cummins^ 
voice bade him enter. Joe, however, only stuck his 
head into the room, and, nodding to Brown, said 
in a deep, mysterious whisper: *^Yes~s-s!^^ Then 
he closed the door and went off down the corridor, 
chuckling. In Number 16, Brown raised his brows 
and looked inquiringly at his chum. 

^‘Battyhe asked. 

A day passed before Joe and Myron breathed 
freely. By Monday evening it seemed quite safe 
to assume that Myron ^s absence had passed un¬ 
detected. They went across town and brought the 
suit-case home then, Joe, however, transferring 
certain articles, such as Myron’s pyjamas, to his 
pockets in case some inquisitive member of the 
faculty should insist on looking inside the bag. 
But none challenged and the suit-case went back 
to the closet and Myron’s toilet articles to their 
places, and the episode was closed. The two 
spoke of it but briefly. That was Sunday night, 
as they were preparing for bed. Then Joe re¬ 
marked conversationally: “You’re a crazy loon, 
kiddo, aren’t you?” After a moment of reflection 
Myron said “Yes,” quite humbly. 

“Sure are,” agreed Joe, tossing his trousers in 
the general direction of a chair. “Any time any 
guy accuses you of having sense, you knock him 


268 


FULL-BAOK FOSTER 


down. 1^11 stand by you. Still, you have your 
uses, and I’m glad to see you in our midst again. 
How about being here, now that you are?” 

‘‘Tickled to death,” owned Myron a bit shame¬ 
facedly. 

Joe chuckled. “Knew you would be,” he said. 
“We ain’t—aren’t such a bad lot when you take 
us, right. Good night, kiddo.” 

“Goodnight, Joe. I—^you—I mean, thanks!” 


CHAPTER XXni 


REINSTATED 

MyrokT isnT likely to forget for a long time the 
week that followed. Every afternoon at four 
o^clock appeared Andrew, armed for the fray, and 
for two hours of a hundred and twenty minutes 
each Myron wrestled with Latin. Andrew was 
merciless. From the stroke of four to the stroke 
of six was the inexorable rule. Myron^s pleas 
werenT even heard. After two days he got fairly 
used to it, though, and then the labour began to 
bear fruit. Mr. Addicks shot a keen and question¬ 
ing glance at Myron on Wednesday and followed 
it with one of mild approval on Thursday. Sat¬ 
urday morning Myron was again out of the woods, 
although, as Andrew reminded him more than 
once, whether he stayed so depended on whether 
he was willing to study hard and long and reso¬ 
lutely. Myron reached the conclusion that he was. 

But being out of the woods did not necessarily 
place him in the full sunlight of faculty favour, 
and so it was from the grandstand that he saw 
Parkinson play Chancellor School at Mt. Wansett, 
269 


270 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


and not from the players’ bench. Myron had 
doubts as to his right to make the trip, and put the 
matter up to Joe. Joe did not observe, as he might 
have, that, having got as far away as Philadelphia 
without leave, going to a not distant town under 
like conditions shouldn’t worry Myron! Instead, 
he advised him to put the question up to Mr. Hoyt. 
The secretary referred to a mysterious book and 
shook his head. can’t find that you have gone 
on probation, Foster,” he said. “Nothing here 
indicates it. You say Doctor Lane forbade you to 
play football? Was anything said about proba¬ 
tion?” 

“No, sir. I only thought—was afraid-” 

“Well, I should say there was no intention, 
then. If I were you I’d assume that I was not 
on probation. However, if you still have doubts 
I’ll take the matter up with the Principal as soon 
as he’s at leisure, and if you’ll drop in again about 
twelve-” 

“But the train goes at eleven, sir!” 

Mr. Hoyt smiled faintly. “In that case. Poster, 
I don’t see how you can be here at twelve.” 

“You think, then, that-” 

“I think so.” 

Myron hurried out before the secretary had 
time to change his mind and think differently! 


REINSTATED 


271 


It rained that day, and the game was played in 
a sea of water on a soft and slippery turf. Many 
boys who had meant to accompany the team backed 
out when they viewed the weather, and only a 
handful huddled in raincoats behind the Parkinson 
bench and aided the Brown with damp enthusi¬ 
asm. Not that a great deal of cheering was 
needed, however, for the first period settled the 
outcome of the contest, and after that it was 
merely a question of whether Chancellor would 
score. Parkinson started with the line-up that, 
so rumour had it, would face Kenwood two weeks 
later: Stearns and Norris, ends; Mellen and Keith, 
tackles; Cummins and Dobbins, guards; Cantrell, 
centre; Cater, quarter; Meldrum and Brown, 
halves; Kearns, full. But that arrangement did 
not outlast the second period. The third began 
with the score 19 to 0 and five substitutes on the 
field. And during the subsequent thirty minutes 
of playing time additional changes were frequent. 
Parkinson ended with many third substitutes in 
the line-up, to which may be fairly attributed the 
fact that Chancellor saved her face at the last 
and scored seven points. 

With a slippery field and a wet ball, both teams 
had stuck pretty closely to line plays, but some 
five or six minutes from the end. Grove, playing 


272 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


quarter, took a chance and shot the ball to 
Houghton, at full, for a wide run around left end. 
Houghton muffed, not a difficult thing to do when 
the ball is as slippery as a pat of butter and it 
reaches you off at one side, and the fat was in 
the fire. A defeated team is a dangerous team, 
and Chancellor proved it then and there by piling 
through the Parkinson first and second defences, 
upsetting the distressed Houghton and salvaging 
the pigskin some thirty yards from the Brown’s 
goal-line. For the first time in many long, wet 
minutes the spectators had something to thrill 
over. A long-limbed, shock-headed Chancellor 
forward in mud-reeking pants and torn jersey, 
wearied and winded, went plunging and stum¬ 
bling and slipping toward a touchdown with the 
field strewed out behind him. Interference was 
hasty but effective. Parkinson and Chancellor 
youths went down like nine-pins, splashing into 
puddles, gouging into mud. For a moment it 
seemed that the incident would end with twenty- 
two players flat on the wet ground and only the 
officials erect! But, although many fell by the 
way, others managed to keep their feet and run 
it out, and among these was the youth with the 
ball. Twice he went to his knees, but each time 
he recovered before the enemy reached him, and 


EEINSTATED 273 

in the end he slid over the line close to the left 
goal-post, and Chancellor shouted and leaped 
with delight. 

After the goal was prettily kicked the teams 
went at it again, but to all purposes the game was 
over and the score didn’t change again. Twenty- 
nine to seven were the figures that, later in the 
day, brought uneasiness to the Kenwood camp. 
Yet, returning to Warne, it was noticed that Coach 
Driscoll’s countenance did not reflect the satisfac¬ 
tion shown on other faces. After supper that 
evening he told Jud Mellen why. “You chaps 
played a rattling game today,” he said almost 
regretfully. “I haven’t a criticism to make that’s 
worth the breath it would cost. Even the second 
and third subs were good, almost without excep¬ 
tion. But I sort of wish you hadn’t done so well, 
and that’s the truth.” 

“Afraid of a slump,” said Jud, nodding 
thoughtfully. 

“Well, not exactly that. When a team reaches 
its best two weeks before the big game it doesn’t 
take a slump to queer it. It only needs a return 
to ordinary playing, if you see what I mean. All 
you fellows need do to get beaten two weeks from 
today is to play the sort of football you played 
last week against Day and Robins. There’s just 


274 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

that much difference between fine football and 
good football, Cap. If it had been Kenwood 
today instead of Chancellor, we’d have the cham¬ 
pionship tucked away in our belt this evening. I 
guess I’ve made a mistake somewhere: let you 
fellows come too fast the last week or so. But I 
didn’t have any warning that you were on the 
last lap. It hasn’t shown once. Well, it’s up to 
us now to stay where we are, Cap.” 

‘‘Or go ahead,” said Jud. 

But Mr. Driscoll shook his head. “I’d like to 
think so, but I’m afraid we reached top-notch 
today. I’m always scared for a team that hasn’t 
had a slump some time during the season. And 
we haven’t. Not a real, sure-enough slump. 
There was a tendency after the Phillipsburg 
game, but it didn’t really amount to anything.” 

“Well, I don’t feel like slumping,” laughed 
Jud. “And I haven’t noticed any signs of it in 
the others. Every one’s as cocky as you please 
tonight, and barring a few bruises—and Flay’s 
knee—they’re all in fine shape.” 

“Yes, we came out of it mighty well,” agreed 
the coach. “I hate a wet field. Cap. I hope to 
goodness this rain doesn’t keep on for two or 
three days. Rainy vreather can play hob with a 
team that’s the least bit over-trained.” 


REINSTATED 


275 


“You’re a regular pessimist tonight, Coach,” 
Jud laughed. “Cheer up! By the way, Dobbins 
told me this evening that Foster’s expecting to 
get off pro. Kearns wasn’t half bad today, but 
it would certainly make me feel easier in what I 
call my mind to have Foster ready to take his 
place.” 

“Yes. See if you can get him out Monday. 
There isn’t a whole lot of time left. Still, he’s 
learned the position fairly well and might give a 
good account of himself as he is. With another 
ten days of training he ought to make a good 
second for Kearns.” 

The rain continued during Sunday and Myron 
was restless and inclined to be as much of a pessi¬ 
mist as the head coach. He was difficult to live 
with, too, and Joe dragged him over to Mill Street 
after dinner in the hope that Andrew would be 
good for his soul. Andrew did, in truth, perk 
him up not a little, predicting that he would get 
his release from Doctor Lane the next day. 

“I dare say he’s forgotten all about me,” said 
Myron dismally. “Suppose Addicks doesn’t tell 
him I’ve made good?” 

“Well, it’s up to Addicks, and that’s a fact,” 
responded Andrew. “If nothing happens by 
noon, I’d advise you to go to him and tell him 


276 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 

the facts. Tell him you want to get back on the 
team and canT until he speaks a good word for 
you to Jud. Addicks is a good sport and will do 
it. I think he will, anyhow, though. You see if 
you don’t hear from Jud in the morning.” 

So Myron decided to hope for the best and 
forgot his worries watching the amusing antics of 
the puppies, by now sturdy little rascals who made 
their mother’s life a burden and a boredom. 

Andrew’s prediction came true, for the next 
morning Myron was again summoned to the Office 
and conducted into the presence of Doctor Lane. 

‘^Mr. Addicks tells me that you’re doing very 
much better, Foster,” announced the Doctor. 
‘Mn fact, he recommends that we lift the restric¬ 
tions in your case. Do you think that you will be 
able to stay in good standing now?” 

‘^Yes, sir. I’m going to try hard, anyway,” 
said Myron earnestly. 

Doctor Lane smiled. ‘^In that case I believe 
that you will succeed, my boy. It’s wonderful 
what really trying will accomplish. Very well, 
Foster. You have permission to go back and 
grind your face in the sod again. Like football 
do you?” 

‘‘Very mtich, sir.” 

“So do I. I used to play it once, a good many 


REINSTATED 277 

years ago. Do you consider that we have a good 
chance to beat Kenwood this fall?’^ 

‘‘Yes, sir, I think we will. We’ve got a bully 
team!” 

“So I understand. Well, we’ll hope so. Good 
morning, Foster.” 

Once outside the door of the outer office, Myron 
broke into song. As a musical effort it was not 
remarkably successful, but as an expression of his 
feelings it met all requirements. Turning into 
the entrance corridor, he almost ran into Paul 
Eldredge. He and Paul had never spoken since 
the encounter on the walk that evening. Paul’s 
attitude toward him had been one of armed neu¬ 
trality expressed in sullen silence and sarcastic 
glances. Now, acting on impulse, Myron stopped 
and spoke. 

“Say, Eldredge,” he blurted, “let’s call it off! 
What do you say I I’m sorry for whatever it was 
that—that offended you.” 

Eldredge, surprised, at a loss, stared at Myron’s 
smiling countenance for an instant, trying to think 
of something sarcastic. Failing, he grunted, and 
then, as Myron kept silence and waited, he said: 
“All right,” none too graciously; adding: “I’m 
satisfied if you are. You started it, anyway.” 

Myron couldn’t remember whether he had or 


278 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

hadn’t just then, so he yielded the point. ‘^Did 
I? I’m sorry then. Let’s forget it, eh?” 

Eldredge nodded more amiably. “Sure! I’m 
willing. ’ ’ 

Then Myron nodded, laughed for no reason 
that the other could fathom, and hurried on. The 
laugh had nothing to do with Eldredge or with 
the making of peace, but was just an advertise¬ 
ment of the fact that life looked very good to him 
at the moment. 

Mr. Addicks, a half-hour later, positively 
beamed on him, to the quiet amusement of those 
of the class who knew of Myron’s recent status, 
and Myron decided that the Latin instructor was 
“a corking old chap.” Reinstatement amongst 
the first team substitutes proved a most casual 
affair that afternoon. He reported to Farnsworth 
and the manager said, rather decently, “Glad 
you’re back, Foster. All right, get into it. 
That’s your squad down the field.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


EDDIE APPLIES THE BRAKE 

I THINK the experiences of the past week had 
cleared the air in Myron’s case. Perhaps 
Andrew’s curtain lecture at the hotel that Sunday 
morning had its effect. Perhaps, too, the knowl¬ 
edge that Joe and Andy had cared enough to go 
to all that scheming and effort to bring him back 
and save him from his own folly bucked him up. 
At all events, he went to work hammer-and-tongs 
and by Wednesday night had Steve Kearns look¬ 
ing worried. Chas, viewing events interestedly, 
chuckled to himself. Things were working his 
way. Not only was he secretly aiding and abet¬ 
ting the career of Myron, but there were three 
others among the first and second choice fellows 
who were under his care and who, willingly or un¬ 
willingly, followed his instructions. Had Chas 
cared to he could have taken a pencil and paper 
and written down the line-up for next season’s 
first important contest. Needless to say, against 
the position of left guard would have been the 
name of Cummins. 


279 


280 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


Chas was not without his qualms of uneasiness, 
though, for Brodhead was now pushing him hard 
for his place. Attending to the duties of next 
year’s captain in anticipation somewhat detracted 
from his playing qualities, and when, on Thurs¬ 
day, he found himself left on the bench while 
Brodhead was sent into the game against the 
second at left guard, he realised dismayedly that 
he would have to let next season look after itself 
for the present and reinstate himself in the 
coach’s good graces. Chas’ plans revolved on 
his election to the captaincy, and it wasn’t usual 
to elect to that position a fellow who had not 
played in the big game. Chas studied his scarred 
knuckles thoughtfully and wondered to just what 
extent Mr. Driscoll would let his personal feelings 
rule when it came to a choice between him and 
Brodhead for the Kenwood game. Chas knew 
perfectly well that the coach, without disliking 
him, held it in for him on one or two scores, and 
one must allow for a certain amount of human 
nature, he reflected, in even a football coach! 
Mentally he shook his head and acknowledged 
that he would have to mend his ways. He wasn’t 
certain, for that matter, that it was not already 
too late, that, to use his own expression, he had 
not already “spilled the beans”! 


EDDIE APPLIES THE BRAKE 281 

That Thursday Myron got himself talked about. 
He went in at full-back in the second half, vice 
Kearns, and showed himself a remarkably profi¬ 
cient player at that position. Coach Driscoll 
watched him in genuine surprise, although, as 
usual, he hid his feelings. ‘^He’s just about four 
times as good as he was before he was laid otf,’’ 
he said to himself, ^‘and at least twice as good as 
I ever thought he would be. Why, the chap’s a 
born full-back! Give him a few more pounds for 
line-bucking and he will size up with any of them. 
Next year he ought to be All-American material, 
by Jupiter! But I mustn’t spoil him. He’s too 
good. And if he gets to knowing how good he is, 
he’s likely to get fond of himself and fizzle out. 
I think he’s the sort to do that. No, I guess we’ll 
keep your spurs trimmed down pretty close, 
Foster, my lad!” And in furtherance of that 
plan the coach strode across to the first team 
backfield and metaphorically ripped Myron up the 
back, to the bewilderment of Myron and the puz¬ 
zlement of Jud and Joe and Katie and some 
others! Myron ended the game in a chastened 
mood, conscious of having made two touchdowns, 
one by a wide run behind good interference and 
one by downright grit from the four yards when 
the advance had seemed at an end, but equally 


282 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

conscious that he had not done as well as he should 
have. He had Coach Driscoll ^s word for the 
latter, although the coach had somehow failed to 
specify very exactly wherein Myron had failed. 
There had been talk about ‘‘getting low’’ and 
“using your legs,” but Myron didn’t really see 
how he could have struck the line much lower 
without going into it on his head or how he could 
have got another ounce of push out of those 
wearied legs of his. In the end, having been 
refreshed with food and having listened to hearty 
praise from his friends, he decided that coaches 
were strange persons not always to be taken seri¬ 
ously. But he didn’t get a swelled head over the 
day’s performance, which was what the coach had 
guarded against. 

There was no practice on Friday for the first 
team players, and so when Myron found a note in 
the mail that morning signed Maurice Millard 
saying that the writer would be in Warne that 
noon and asking Myron to meet him at the hotel 
at two o’clock, the latter was able to promise 
himself an enjoyable afternoon. Unfortunately, 
he had a recitation at two, but he left a note for 
Millard at the hotel in the forenoon postponing 
the meeting until a quarter to three. He recalled 
Millard very pleasantly and was glad he was 


EDDIE APPLIES THE BRAKE'^ 283 

to meet him again. He liked that name, too, 
Maurice Millard: it had a swing to it, he thought, 
even if it did sound rather like the name of a 
moving-picture artist! He wished that Millard 
had chosen to look him up at his room, for he 
would have liked to introduce him to Joe. Joe 
had seemed somehow rather sceptical as to 
Millard's charms. But he could bring the visitor 
to Sohmer later on, for of course he would want 
to see the school and visit the football field and 
so on. 

But, rather strangely—or so Myron thought,— 
Millard declared in favour of taking a drive into 
the country. ‘‘We can look around the school 
when we get back," he explained. “It's a won¬ 
derful day for a drive and I'm much fonder of the 
country than I am of towns. And we can have 
a jolly chat, too, and you won't have to interrupt 
yourself every ten seconds to say ‘That’s Smith 
Hall, built in 1876 and used by General Wash¬ 
ington as headquarters during the football game 
between Parkinson and Kenwood,' or some other 
such dope." 

As to its being a wonderful day for driving, 
Myron had his doubts, for summer had returned 
and the weather was decidedly hot in spite of the 
fact that November was two weeks old. Still, 


284 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


driving might be pleasanter than walking, and 
the gnest had the right to choose his entertain¬ 
ment, and Myron capitulated. To find a convey¬ 
ance, however, was not so easy, for no Jehus slept 
along the curb in front of the little hotel when 
they went in search of one. Myron suggested 
walking to the station, only a block or so distant, 
and Millard consented. The difficulty was solved 
before they got that far, however, for a new, 
highly varnished taxi-cab darted toward them 
from a side street and a dimly remembered youth 
on the driver’s seat hailed Myron by name. He 
proved to be the fellow who had conveyed Myron 
to Sohmer that first day of school, and by the 
time the latter had ended negotiations for the 
hiring of the cab by the hour he remembered that 
the sandy-haired young man was named Eddie 
Moses. The cab appeared to be brand-new and 
was certainly a vast improvement over the former 
one. They went briskly out of the town toward 
Sturgis, and, with all windows open, the drive 
promised to be as enjoyable as Millard had pre¬ 
dicted. 

The visitor was as smartly, if quietly, dressed 
as when Myron had seen him last, and Myron was 
secretly glad that he had gone to extra pains in 
the matter of his own attire. Myron asked about 


EDDIE APPLIES THE BRAKE 285 


business and Millard reported everything fine, and 
said that he had managed to get a small order 
from the local dealer in athletic supplies that 
morning. “Not much, you know, but enough to 
let us show him that we have the goods he wants 
and can sell to him cheaper than that New York 
house. It’s a wedge, Foster.” 

In spite of Millard’s expressed love of the 
country, he didn’t seem to pay much attention to 
its beauties. Before they had gone a mile he had 
switched the conversation from athletic goods to 
football, of which he appeared to know a great 
deal. Myron wondered if he had played when at 
school, and what that school had been, but some¬ 
how he never got around to asking. He was glad 
enough to talk about football, and he managed 
before long to let Millard know that he was now 
a member of the Parkinson first team. Millard 
was clearly delighted with his friend’s good for¬ 
tune, and congratulated him warmly. 

“I’ll bet anything you’ll make good, too, Foster, 
when you fellows meet Kenwood. I hear they’ve 
got only a fair team over there this year. I was 
talking to a fellow from there only a couple of 
days ago. ^We aren’t telling it around, Art’— 
my name’s Maurice Arthur, you know, and some 
fellows call me Art,” he explained parenthetically. 


286 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


‘We aren’t telling it around, but between you 
and me we’ve got a pretty punk outfit this year. 
We’re trying to keep Parkinson guessing, but if 
they play the sort of game they played against 
Chancellor they’ll have us on the run from the 
beginning.’ Maybe I oughtn’t to tell this to a 
Parkinson fellow, but he didn’t tell me not to, and 
you and I are friends, so I guess there’s no harm. 
Besides, I’d like mighty well to see you fellows 
lick that Kenwood bunch. They’re too stuck-up 
forme.” 

“I won’t say anything about it to any one,” 
said Myron virtuously. “Probably your friend 
wouldn’t want it to get to our team.” 

“Oh, never mind what he wants. If telling 
your fellows’ll do them any good, you go ahead 
and tell them. I’ll stand for it. How is the 
team getting along, by the way? That was cer¬ 
tainly a peach of a licking you gave Chancellor. 
I was reading about it in the paper last Sunday.” 

Myron replied that the team was getting on 
famously, and went into rather intimate details 
to prove it. Millard was flatteringly interested 
and encouraged Myron to talk, which Myron was 
nothing loath to do since he was on a subject that 
appealed to him vastly. Millard had many ques¬ 
tions to ask, questions which showed conclusively 


EDDIE APPLIES THE BRAKE 287 

that he had a close understanding of football and 
a wide acquaintance among players. With such 
a listener Myron found it easy to pursue his sub¬ 
ject. Millard introduced debate by throwing 
doubt on the ability of the Parkinson ends. He 
said he thought Cousins and Leeds, the Kenwood 
ends, would have the better of the argument, and 
was only convinced to the contrary after Myron 
had very thoroughly explained Stearns’ and 
Norris’ methods, both on offence and defence. 
There was simply no end to Millard’s interest in 
football, and once—they were running through 
the town of Sturgis at the moment—when Myron 
feared that he was boring the other, in spite of 
apparent willingness to listen, and sought to 
change the subject, it was Millard who soon 
brought it back again. 

How the matter of signals came up, Myron 
didn’t afterward recall, but it did, and it was 
exhaustively dealt wnth. Millard spoke of a case 
he knew of where the intricacy of the signals had 
lost an important game for a certain high school 
team. ^'I always think that the more simple the 
sigjjal system is the better it is. You take the big 
colleges, now, Foster. They don’t ball the men 
all up with double numberings and ‘repeats’ and 
all those silly tricks. They select a simple sys- 


288 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


tern, one that’s easy to learn and remember. 
Why, I’ve seen quarter-backs stutter and fumble 
around for whole minutes trying to get their 
signals straightened out. And as for the number 
of times that backs have spoiled a play because 

they didn’t get the signals right-” Millard 

whistled eloquently. 

‘‘Guess we won’t have any trouble that way,” 
answered Myron complacently. “Our system’s 
as simple as simple.” 

“That sol Holes and players numbered from 
left to right, eh?” 

“No, we begin at the ends.” 

“Yes, that’s a better scheme. Left end is 1, 
left tackle, 3, and so on, I suppose.” 

“No, we don’t number the players that way. 
The openings-” 

The taxi-cab stopped so suddenly that Myron 
bit his tongue over the last word as he pitched 
forward. Of course Millard described much the 
same gymnastic feat, but it is doubtful if Millard 
heard, or thought he heard, what Myron did in 
the brief instant that his head protruded through 
a front window, for Eddie Moses’ neck stayed 
Myron’s forward flight and Eddie’s mouth was 
but a few inches from Myron’s ear. And in the 
part of a second that it remained there it got the 


EDDIE APPLIES THE BRAKE 289 
impression that some one, presumably Eddie, had 
distinctly said: '‘Shut up!’' That impression 
did not register on his brain, however, until he 
was back in his seat and Eddie had released his 
emergency brake. Then, while Eddie, in reply 
to Millard’s somewhat incensed question, was 
apologetically explaining something about a dog 
that had run almost under the wheels, he stared 
startledly at the back of Eddie’s head. That told 
him nothing, though, and he harked back to the 
interrupted conversation to discover what could 
have brought such a fiercely voiced admonition 
from the driver, if, indeed, that admonition had 
not been imagined. The shaking-up, however, 
had jostled memory as well as body, and it was 
Millard who supplied the information he sought. 

‘‘I didn’t see any dog,” he said huffily to Eddie. 

Guess you imagined it. Now, then, Foster, you 
were explaining about that numbering.” 

“What numbering?” asked Myron blankly. 

“Forgotten?” laughed Millard. “Why, we 
were talking about signals, don’t you remember?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, ’ ’ answered Myron thoughtfully. ‘ ‘ So 
we were. How would it do to take the Princeville 
Road back, Eddie? That’ll give us more of a 
drive. ’ ’ 

As a matter of fact, it would do nothing of the 


290 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

sort, and Myron knew it, and Eddie Moses knew 
it when he added cheerfully, “All right, boss!’’ 
Only Millard didn’t know it, although it is likely 
that he suspected it later when, in far less time 
than it had taken them to reach Sturgis, they were 
back again in Warne. During that journey back, 
made at a greater speed than the trip away, Mil¬ 
lard tried vainly to swing the conversation back 
to the topic of football, and football signals in 
particular, but Myron seemed to have suddenly 
wearied of the subject and wouldn’t stay put a 
minute. He pointed out features of the landscape 
for Millard’s admiring observation and invented 
quite a few interesting legends about passing 
houses or farms. After a while Millard managed 
to display some enthusiasm for nature and for the ^ 
legends and was quite the entertaining and charm¬ 
ing youth he had been before that shaking-up. 
But Myron thought that there had been a quarter 
of an hour subsequent to it when the visitor had 
sounded out of patience and even a trifle short- 
tempered. He might have simply imagined it, 
though. They were back in town long before 
five, and Millard’s train didn’t leave until after 
six, and there was plenty of time to visit the 
school, but Millard recalled a forgotten appoint¬ 
ment at the hotel and was set down there accord- 


EDDIE APPLIES THE BRAKE 291 

ingly. He was most apologetic and thanked 
Myron for a good time and begged to be allowed 
to go halves on the cab bill. This privilege Myron 
indignantly denied. Millard promised to look 
Myron up again shortly. 

‘‘I want to see the school and all that, you know, 
Foster,” he declared. ‘‘Wish I could run up 
there now, but I’ll be tied up until train time. 
The next time I come you must come down and 
have dinner with me.” 

They shook hands and parted, Myron return¬ 
ing to the cab and bidding Eddie drive him to 
Sohmer. But out of sight of the hotel Myron 
leaned over and addressed the back of Eddie’s 
freckled neck. “Did you say anything to me the 
time I went through the window I” he asked. 

“Yeah, I said ‘Shut up!’ You was doing a lot 
of fancy talking to that guy, seemed to me. 
’Course, he might be a friend of yours and all, 
but you was telling him things about the football 
team that you hadn’t ought to, see? That’s why 
I jammed on the ’mergency. There wasn’t no 
dog at all!” 

‘ ‘ Oh, ’ ’ murmured Myron, ‘ ‘ I see. Maybe you ’re 
right. Anyway, I’m much obliged. Of course, 
Millard is perfectly square, but he might talk.” 

“Yeah, he might,” agreed Eddie. “Or he 


292 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


might let some one else do the talking. Here you 
are, sir! Sohmer Hall, home of the rude rich! 
Thank you, sir.^’ Eddie winked knowingly. 
‘ H ^m not talking any. Don T you worry about me, 
sir. So long!’’ 

Myron made his way up the steps of the dormi¬ 
tory, under the envious regard of three third class 
youths, and climbed the stairs somewhat thought¬ 
fully. Certainly, Maurice Millard was all right, 
but he was awfully glad that Eddie had imagined 
that dog. Millard had repeated what the Ken¬ 
wood chap had told him about the Kenwood team, 
information plainly not intended for publicity, 
which showed that he was not exactly close¬ 
mouthed. On the whole, decided Myron, he had 
come horribly near to making an utter fool of 
himself. He decided to say nothing about it to 
Joe. Joe must already have a good'enough opin¬ 
ion of his common sense! 


CHAPTER XXV 


FALSE COLOURS 

The preliminary season came to an end the next 
day with the St. Luke’s Academy game. Football 
affairs had become fairly hectic now and the 
school marched to the field behind a strident brass 
band, cheering and singing. Mass-meetings had 
been held twice weekly ever since the Warne High 
School contest, and songs had been practised and 
cheers rehearsed, and today Parkinson was in 
fine voice and filled with enthusiasm. St. Luke’s 
was not a formidable opponent, and for that rea¬ 
son had been chosen to fill in the last date before 
the Kenwood game. A wise coach selects the 
semi-final adversary with care and deliberation, 
and a wrong selection may work much harm to 
his charges. St. Luke’s was warranted by past 
experience to give Parkinson a good battle with¬ 
out requiring any extraordinary exertions on the 
latter’s part. Usually the score was one or two 
touchdowns to none, although not so long ago the 
generally docile St. Luke’s had kicked over the 
traces in the annual event and thrown a healthy 
scare into Parkinson. On that historic occasion 


293 


294 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

the final score had been 17 to 10 in the home team’s 
favour. 

The Brown line-up was exactly as at the start 
of the Chancellor game, with a single exception. 
The name of Foster appeared as full-back instead 
of Kearns. Whether he had been put in to save 
Kearns for the Kenwood game or whether he was 
there on his merits, Myron couldn’t decide. But 
he played a good game wdiile he remained in the 
line-up. The cheering was fine and put heart into 
them all, and Myron felt that afternoon as though 
he could ‘Uick his weight in wild-cats,” as Joe 
might have put it. He wasn’t called on for many 
punts, which was perhaps fortunate, for his punt¬ 
ing still lacked control. If he got distance he was 
likely to send the pigskin to the wrong place, 
while if he obtained direction he was liable to kick 
short. But in the other departments he showed 
up strongly. He was a big addition to the back 
field on defence, using his weight very knowingly, 
and more than one St. Luke’s gain was nipped in 
the bud by him. Speed aided him at line plunges, 
and his runs, of which he got off three during the 
time he played, together netted nineteen yards 
against clever ends. Altogether, he was a suc¬ 
cess, and coach and school recognised the fact, and 
when, five minutes after the beginning of the sec- 


FALSE COLOURS 


295 

ond half, he got rather the worst of a mix-up with 
the St. Luke’s left half and was taken out in fa¬ 
vour of Kearns, he got a hearty cheer as he walked 
none too steadily to the bench. 

Myron was not the only player who deserved 
praise that afternoon, for every fellow on the 
team was good. If the perfection exhibited i;n the 
Chancellor game was not quite duplicated it was 
possibly because the incentive was lacking. St. 
Luke’s was outweighed by several pounds and 
was slower than she should have been been. And 
she seemed, too, to lack plays adapted to her style 
of football. Parkinson failed to score in the first 
quarter, ran up eleven points in the second, seven 
more in the third and, in the last period, with a 
line consisting almost entirely of substitutes, and 
with second-string backs behind it, added a field 
goal by way of good measure. Every one, even 
Coach Driscoll, appeared perfectly satisfied with 
the afternoon’s performance, and Parkinson’s 
stock soared high that evening. It looked very 
much as if the season was to glide smoothly and 
uneventfully to a satisfactory close. But a week 
still intervened, and in a week much may 
happen. 

On Monday, Norris, right end, started the pro¬ 
gramme of events by breaking a bone in his right 


296 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


ankle. He did it by falling over a pail on the 
stairs in Williams Hall. It wasn’t a serious dis¬ 
aster, but it might easily impair his playing ability 
five days later. Tuesday, Grafton, first-choice 
substitute for Captain Mellen, came down with 
laryngitis, and Snow, who was due to take Can¬ 
trell’s place at centre in the event of that player’s 
retirement, was called home to Illinois because of 
serious illness in the family. Coach Driscoll 
smiled grimly and wondered what further mis¬ 
fortunes could happen in the remaining three 
days. Coach Driscoll, it may be said, was never 
designed for the peaceful life. He was more 
contented when he was facing difficulties. Jud 
Mellen, himself worried by the ill-luck, remarked 
almost resentfully Tuesday evening: ‘‘Gee, Coach, 
any one would think you’d got news that the whole 
Kenwood team was down with the sleeping sick¬ 
ness, you look so bright and merry. I’m sick!” 

“No use pulling a long face. Cap,” replied Mr. 
Driscoll. “After all, we’ve come through the sea¬ 
son remarkably. Something was bound to go 
wrong, and I felt it. I guess I’m rather relieved 
to find out what it is. And it might have been 
worse. ’ ’ 

“Yes, we might have lost the whole team,” 
responded Jud sarcastically. “Oh, I suppose we 


FALSE COLOURS 297 

can pull through if nothing worse happens, but 
I’m expecting Katie to fall oft a roof or 
Brown to get kicked by a mule tomorrow. This 
has got me going for fair!” 

‘^You look after Number One,” advised the 
coach. ‘ ‘ The best way to kill a trouble is to laugh 
it to death!” 

Jud expressed incredulous surprise when 
Wednesday passed without further misfortunes. 
There was a monster meeting that night and a 
march through town and a speech by the Principal 
from the porch of his residence and much enthu¬ 
siasm and noise. Myron did not take part in the 
observances, for the players were now required to 
remain in their rooms evenings as far as possible 
and to be in bed promptly at ten o’clock. So far, 
Myron had felt no nervousness, nothing approach¬ 
ing stage-fright, but when Thursday arrived and 
the^ field was well surrounded with cheering 
youths and townsfolk and the band that was to 
play on Saturday was adding to the din and there 
was only light signal work, followed by punting 
and catching for the backs, instead of the relief 
of a good, hard scrimmage, why, then he felt a 
trifle fluttery about the heart. It meant so much' 
to all those eager-eyed, laughing but secretly 
earnest boys about him, that hoped-for victory, 


298 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


and he was chosen to aid in the securing of it!' 
The realisation of responsibility sobered him and 
then left him a trifle panic-stricken. Suppose he 
failed them, the coach and Captain Mellen and 
the school! For the moment it seemed that in such 
an event he would not have the courage to stay on 
and face them all. He almost wished that Coach 
Driscoll would let Kearns play instead I But that 
wish didn’t last long, and the panic was short¬ 
lived, too. There was still a vague uneasiness dis¬ 
turbing him, however, and that uneasiness was 
due to remain with him during his waking hours 
until the whistle blew on Saturday. 

The second team, its usefulness at an end, 
cheered and was cheered and performed a digni¬ 
fied ceremony behind the east goal, to which, since 
the first team players had trotted back to the gym¬ 
nasium, the audience flocked. Gravely, reverently, 
torn jerseys, worn-out pants, shoes beyond aid 
and various other disreputable articles of football 
attire and use were piled on the jumping pit. 
Then a football rules book was laid on top of all, 
a gallon of kerosene applied and around the blaz- 
ing pyre the members of the second team slowly 
circled with joined hands, chanting a strange 
jumble of atrocious Latin and scarcely more ac¬ 
ceptable English. Gradually the pace grew faster 


FALSE COLOURS 299 

and the psean brisker until, presently, the scene 
was a ludicrous whirl of bodies amidst a wild 
shriek of song and a cloud of smoke. In such 
manner the second team disbanded, at the end, 
spent with laughter and breathless from their 
exertions, giving three feeble groans for Kenwood 
and ^‘nine long Parkinsons’’! 

Friday was a long and gloomy day. There was 
little use trying to do anything at recitations if 
you were on the team, and not much more if you 
weren’t. You just bluffed, if you could, or threw 
yourself on the mercy of the instructors, trusting 
that they would prove human enough to be lenient. 
They usually were, for long experience had proved 
to the Parkinson faculty that for a week before 
the big game and for several days after it normal 
members of the student body were incapable of 
interest in studies. To make matters more dismal 
on Friday, it rained. It didn’t rain in a cheerful, 
whole-souled way, but drizzled and stopped and 
sulked and drizzled again, and you wanted to be 
outdoors if you were in and wanted to be back 
again as soon as you were out. There was black¬ 
board work for the players in the afternoon and 
signal drill in the evening. Afterwards Myron 
and Joe and Andrew chatted in Number 17 until 
bedtime, while from over in front of Parkinson 


300 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


Hall the cheers of some five hundred youths arose 
to the cloudy sky. Then came ten o’clock, and 
Andy went, and the room-mates got thoughtfully 
out of their clothes and crept beneath the covers, 
each a trifle more silent than usual. To Myron’s 
surprise, sleep came after a very short time, and 
when he awoke the sun was bright in a crisp 
November world and there were roystering sounds 
from the bath-rooms down the corridor. 

The first Kenwood invaders appeared well 
before noon, and every hour after that brought 
more until by two o’clock the streets of the town, 
already fairly impartially arrayed as to shop win¬ 
dows with the blue and the brown, wore a decid¬ 
edly cerulean hue. For the team, dinner was 
served at twelve instead of one, and after that 
there remained a long hour and a half before 
they could find relief from inaction. They were 
at liberty to do as they liked within reasonable 
limits, and Myron and Joe and Chas wandered 
across the campus and down School Street in 
search of diversion. Chas was, in his own lan¬ 
guage, “too old a bird to have nerves,” and he 
didn’t intend that either of the others should 
either. He was bubbling over with good spirits 
and kept Myron and Joe laughing from the time 
the three of them left the campus. Perhaps his 


FALSE COLOURS 


301 


cheerfulness was largely due to the fact that, at 
the eleventh hour, Coach Driscoll had chosen him 
over Brodhead for left guard. And perhaps the 
coach had never intended to do anything else. 
Chas never knew as to that. But he did know 
that had things turned out differently for him his 
plans for next season would have been of as much 
interest as a last year’s bird’s nest! 

Their progress through the unusually thronged 
streets was frequently interrupted while Chas 
greeted an acquaintance, generally one of the 
enemy. In front of the hotel quite a crowd had 
collected to peer through doors and windows at 
the Kenwood heroes, who, having eaten dinner, 
were herded in the lobby about coach and trainer 
and rubbers. The three pushed into the throng 
until they could glimpse their adversaries, and 
Chas pointed out several of the notables to the 
others: Leeds, captain and right tackle; the much- 
respected McAfee, left half-back; Odell, full-back 
and goal kicker extraordinary; Garrity, the 
Blue’s clever quarter. ‘‘And the others I don’t 
know the names of,” said Chas, “although that 
whaling big, pop-eyed monster must be Todd, 
their centre. He’s a new one this year. Wonder 
which of the bunch is Lampley, the chap I’m up 
against.” 


302 


FULL-BACK FOSTEE 


‘*And I wonder which is my man/’ said Joe. 
‘‘I hope he’s like his name!” 

‘‘Frost, isn’t it!” asked Chas. “They say he’s 
good, but you’ll know more about him along 
toward four-thirty.” 

“Who are the fellows over there by the desk?” 
asked Myron. 

“The tall one’s their coach, and I guess the 
others are the Board of Strategy, which is a fancy 
name for a bunch of fellows who travel around 
with the team and get their expenses paid out of 
the travelling fund. I think the short fellow is 
Whitely, their manager, but I’m not certain. 
Come on, we’ll see enough of them before the 
afternoon’s over!” 

In the act of turning, Myron’s gaze encountered 
a rather tall youth in the lobby whose face became 
for the first time visible to him at that moment. 
Surely it was Maurice Millard, he thought. And 
yet it couldn’t be, since Millard would never be 
hob-nobbing with the Kenwood coach. Eesisting 
Chas’ tug at his sleeve, he gazed at the object 
of his speculations while a vague uneasiness took 
possession of him. It was Millard! He knew him 
now. It was Millard in a long fuzzy brown ulster 
and a derby hat, Millard looking far less care¬ 
free and cordial than he remembered him. Myron 


FALSE COLOURS 303 

seized the departing Chas and literally dragged 
him back through the crowd. 

“Who’s the tall, good-looking fellow in the 
brown coat?” he demanded anxiously. 

“WTiere is he? I don’t see any good, tail- 
looking fellow in— Oh, yes! That’s Wliat’s-his- 
name, the Kenwood third baseman. He’s a pill. 
He’s played with them two years. Know him?” 

“I think so,” answered Myron, “a—a httle. 
His name’s Millard, isn’t it?” 

“Mill-all? No, it isn’t Mill-ah; it’s Cooke, 
Arthur Cooke. Come along home and stop annoy¬ 
ing the animals.” 

Myron looked again, but there was no chance 
for doubt. He turned and made his way through 
the group of loiterers in the wake of Chas and 
Joe. When he had overtaken the former he asked 
earnestly: “Are you quite certain his name is 
Cooke, Cummins?” 

“Sure I am! WTiy not? He’s the blow-hard 
that was going to do all sorts of things to Liddell 
last spring, if you believe the papers. He is a 
pretty fair batter, and that’s no joke, but Liddell 
had him swinging like a gate and as mad as a hor¬ 
net. He got a scratch single, and that’s all he did 
get, the big boob!” 

“And—and he’s—he’s one of the Kenwood 


304 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

Board of Strategy, as you call asked Myron 
faintly. 

‘‘Yes, sort of. He scouts for them, I guess. 
Anyway, I heard they caught him snooping around 
the grounds of Chancellor last year and mighty 
near tore his shirt off. Kenwood has a tine old 
spy system, Foster, but it never gets her anj’where 
except back home! ’ ’ 

Myron set the pace for the rest on the way 
back, his thoughts appearing to affect his feet. It 
was still only a little after a quarter past one and 
they were not due at the gymnasium until two. 
In that scant three-quarters of an hour, reflected 
Myron sickeningly, he must find Coach Driscoll 
and make his humiliating confession. Whether he 
had given Millard, or Cooke, enough information 
to affect the game, Myron didn’t know, but he did 
know that the manly and honest thing to do was 
to tell the coach all about it and let him decide 
that question. That Mr. Driscoll would let him 
play on the team after his confession had been 
made was highly improbable, but there was no 
help for that. In front of Parkinson Hall he made 
some sort of confused excuse to the others and 
hurried away. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


BEHIND THE STAND 

“You mean to tell me/’ said Coach Driscoll 
incredulously, “that you talked about the team 
to a perfect stranger, Foster, to a fellow met on 
a station platform?” 

“Not so much the first time, sir,” answered 
Myron miserably. “It was when he came here. 
He didn’t seem like a stranger then, and I thought 
he was what he said he was.” 

“You did, eh? Why, he has prep school writ¬ 
ten all over him! I simply can’t understand it, 
Foster!” The coach looked helplessly to Jud 
Mellen and from Jud to Farnsworth and Chas 
and Katie. Myron had run Mr. Driscoll to earth 
at last in the gymnasium, in consultation with the 
trainer, and now they were in the little office of 
Mr. Tasser, the physical director. The others 
had been summoned from the locker room down¬ 
stairs, being the only players then in the building. 
Having produced them, Billy Goode had discreetly 
closed the door behind them and retired to the 
entrance, where Myron could see him now through 
305 


306 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


the glass partition, his purple and white sweater 
radiant in the sunlight that flooded through the 
doorway. Myron rather preferred looking at 
Billy to meeting the accusing gaze of the coach. 
He was not having a very happy time of it. 

‘‘Cooke’s crafty,” offered Katie. “I guess 
he could easily make you believe he was a travel¬ 
ling salesman if he wanted to try, and you didn’t 
know him.” 

Chas nodded, scowling, but the coach said im¬ 
patiently: “Wliat of it? Even if Foster thought 
he was that, he shouldn’t have talked. A travel¬ 
ling man is the last person on earth to tell secrets 
to! Didn’t it even occur to you, Foster, that the 
fellow might repeat what you said?” 

“No, sir, it didn’t. He seemed such a—a decent 
sort, Mr. Driscoll!” 

“Let’s get this right,” said Jud impatiently. 
“Tell us again just what you told him, as near as 
you can remember.” 

Myron did so. His recollection of the two con¬ 
versations was none too clear, however, and he 
faltered several times. 

“And then he brought in the subject of sig¬ 
nals?” prompted the coach. “Can you remem¬ 
ber what you told him then?” 

“I don’t think I told him anything of—of conse- 


BEHIND THE STAND 


307 


qnence/^ answered Myron. “He said he thought 
that simple signals were best and told a lot of 
stories about games where the players had got the 
signals wrong because they were too complicated. 
And he told about some team a long while ago 
where they used to use words instead of numbers. 
I said our signals were simple enough, and he 
said he supposed we numbered the openings and 
the players from right to left; or maybe he said 
left to right. And I told him we didn’t; that we 
began at the ends and numbered in; and then 
Eddie Moses stopped the cab quick and threw us 
off the seat.” 

“Eddie appears to deserve a medal and resolu¬ 
tions of thanks,” observed the coach drily. 
“You’re quite certain that was all you told him, 
Foster? It was at the point you speak of that 
the jolt came?” 

“Yes, sir. I think I had started to say some¬ 
thing else, but I didn’t have time.” 

There was a moment of thoughtful silence. 
Myron looked about the circle of troubled faces 
and wished himself at the bottom of the ocean. 
At last Chas spoke. “Well, say, folks, I don’t see 
that there’s been much harm done. Foster didn’t 
tell that fox anything Kenwood didn’t know al¬ 
ready, I guess, except about the signals. They’ve 


308 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


seen us play all fall and know just about as much 
about our players and the way they play as we 
do/^ 

‘‘That’s so,” murmured Farnsworth. “They 
had three scouts at the Chancellor game.” 

“What about the signals, though?” asked Mr. 
Driscoll, frowning. “How much could Cooke 
make of what Foster so kindly informed him?” 

“Mighty little, I’d say,” answered Katie. 
“There are just as many ways of numbering from 
the ends to the middle as there are from one end 
to the other, or from the middle out. Seems to me 
this Eddie boy put the brakes on at about the right 
minute!” 

“Eddie ought to get a season ticket,” said Chas. 

“Well, the fat’s in the fire and there’s no use 
trying to pull it out now,” said the coach re¬ 
signedly. “If we find they’re on to our signals 
we ’ll have to switch. I guess we’d better arrange 
a new code before the game. Cater.” 

“That’s easy. Coach. Just change about and 
number from the centre out.” 

“Wouldn’t do. Cater. The fellows would get 
balled up unless they had a good hour’s drill first. 
We’ll have to think up some simpler method.” 

“Double the odd numbers,” suggested Chas. 
“Call 1, 11, 2, 22; and so on. They did that last 


BEHIND THE STAND 309 

year on the second and we couldnT get it at all 
till they told us after the season/’ 

'‘That might do,” agreed the coach, and the rest 
nodded. “That would make outside left end 

99, ” he reflected. “Sound all right to you, 
Cater?” 

“Sure! That’s easy enough, hut what about 
11, 13 and 15? Call them 111, 113 and 115?” 

“I think so. We’ll have to change the sequence 
call, though. We’ll make it any even number over 

100 . ” 

“Your friend Cooke wouldn’t approve, though, 
Foster,” said Farnsworth. “He’d say they were 
too complicated.” 

Myron flushed, but made no answer. 

“Get the team together as soon as you can, 
Cap,” said the coach, “and let Cater go over the 
new signals with them a couple of times. Mind, 
though, we don’t change unless it’s evident that 
Kenwood is solving the plays. That’s all, you fel¬ 
lows. Just a minute, Foster, please.” 

The rest hurried out and down the stairs. 
Myron leaned back again in the chair with a 
sigh. Mr. Driscoll viewed him coldly. 

“I suppose you realise that you’ve made rather 
a mess of things, ’ ’ said the coach. Myron assented 
in silence. “The things you let out to this Ken- 


310 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


wood spy may mean just the difference to us be¬ 
tween winning and losing. I hope they won’t, but 
they may. I don’t believe in hitting a man when 
he’s down, Foster, and so I won’t say any more 
about it. I suppose you’re feeling rather rotten 
yourself.” The boy’s glance was answer enough. 
‘‘I was going to have you start the game at full.” 
He paused and Myron’s heart sank. ‘‘I’ve 
changed my mind. There may be a chance for you 
before the game’s over, but don’t count on it. 
If you should by any possibility get in, Foster, 
I shall expect you to try very hard to make up for 
any mischief you’ve caused with that tongue of 
yours. That’s all. You’d better hustle down and 
go through those signals.” 

When Myron had gone Mr. Driscoll frowned. 
“I wonder,” he muttered, “if that was the right 
thing. Sort of tough on him, too. And if he 
should get sore—Well, we’ll see.” Lifting the 
telephone beside him, he called the locker room. 
“Hello! Who is this? Oh, Mistley? Well, ask 
Farnsworth to come up here a minute, please.” 

The manager appeared promptly and behind the 
closed glass door the two spoke briefly with heads 
close together. Then Farnsworth arose and sped 
out, an expression of unholy glee on his counte¬ 
nance, and the coach, tapping the ashes from his 


BEHIND THE STAND 311 

pipe, dropped it into his pocket and went down¬ 
stairs. 

Across the campus a clock struck two. 

The teams that faced each other that afternoon 
were fairly matched in weight and, as events 
proved, closely matched in skill. Neither the 
Brown nor the Blue found herself until the first 
fifteen-minute period was nearly over. Each 
seemed to lack confidence, and those who hoped to 
see one team or the other take the lead at the 
start were doomed to disappointment. There was 
much punting in that first quarter, some half¬ 
hearted rushing that soon slowed down, several 
fumbles and not a little bad judgment. Each team 
appeared more intent on watching her opponent 
than on playing the game, and it was not until the 
very end that Parkinson awoke from her lethargy 
and got into her stride. 

A fortunate forward-pass started her up, and 
from her own forty-two yards to the enemy’s 
thirty-four she took the ball on line attacks varied 
by one wide, swinging run by Meldrum. But the 
Blue was also awake now and her line steadied and 
Parkinson was forced to punt. Kenwood plunged 
twice and returned the punt and Cater caught and 
yras downed in his tracks. Kearns made a scant 


312 FULL-BACK FOSTER 

yard at guard on the right of the line and time 
was called. 

Starting again from near Parkinson forty- 
yard line, the ball went across the centre and back 
again. Cater was nailed when he attempted a 
quarter-back run to the left and Brown made four 
yards in two tries. Keith fell back and punted out 
of bounds at the twenty-five. No advantage ac¬ 
crued to either team for the next five minutes. 
Parkinson was set back for holding and Kenwood 
was twice penalised for off-side. The spectators’ 
hearts went into their throats when a Kenwood 
back misjudged a punt, and it looked for an instant 
as if the Brown was to score. But Norris missed 
the ball and the Kenwood quarter fell on it eight 
yards from the goal-line. The Blue promptly 
punted out of danger. Parkinson failed to gain at 
the Blue line and made a forward which grounded. 
She then punted to the enemy’s thirty yards. The 
half ended with the pigskin in Parkinson territory 
near the middle of the field and in Kenwood’s pos¬ 
session. 

Neither team had shown ability to gain con¬ 
sistently at her opponent’s line. Parkinson had 
made two first downs and Kenwood one. At punt¬ 
ing Kenwood had outdistanced the Brown by some 
five yards on each kick, but had not gained any 


BEHIND THE STAND 


313 


advantage by it, since Stearns and Norris were 
playing the game of their lives. In short, it was 
still anybody's game. During half-time the rivals 
contended with cheers and songs, the contest going 
to Parkinson by reason of a slight advantage in 
numbers and the possession of a brass band. It 
was about the middle of that fifteen-minute inter¬ 
mission that a small youth in the attire of a 
messenger boy came wandering along the edge of 
the Kenwood stand. ‘‘Mr. Cooke!’’ he droned. 
“Message for Mr. Cooke!” 

In response a youth in a fuzzy brown overcoat 
arose from the group on the nearly deserted 
players’ bench. “All right, kid!” he called. 
“Here I am! Let’s have it!” 

“You Mr. Cooke?” asked the boy suspiciously. 

“Yes, A. M. Cooke. Is it for me?” 

“Yeah, that’s right: A. M. Cooke. Well, you’re 
wanted at the telephone.” 

“Where is it?” asked Cooke, vaulting the rope 
into the passage. The boy waved a thumb over 
his shoulder. 

“Out there,” he said vaguely. “I’ll show you.” 

Cooke followed, winding his way through the 
crowd about the entrance. At the gate he spoke 
to one of the ticket takers. “Let me have a check, 
will you?” he asked. “Ihn coming back.” 


314 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


The boy presiding at the box smiled mysteri¬ 
ously. “That’ll be all right,” he said. “You 
won’t need any check.” 

Afterwards, Cooke concluded that it was at 
that moment that suspicion began to creep in. 
But the messenger led on and he followed around 
the back of the stand and into the presence of 
four grim-looking and extremely athletic first 
class fellows. Cooke saw no telephone, and a 
frown gathered on his classic brow. The mes¬ 
senger was speaking. “Here he is,” he said. “I 
got him. Where’s me half?” 

A coin changed hands. Cooke looked on curi¬ 
ously, a question trembling on his lips. But he 
didn’t need to ask that question. Suddenly the 
four youths encompassed him closely and he felt 
no further interest in telephones. 

“Is your name Cooke?” asked the spokesman. 

Cooke wanted very much to deny it, but knew 
that denial would be futile. So he said yes, and' 
the other went on as follows: 

“Well, Cooke, we don’t like your sort. There’s 
a train that will take you to Kenwood leaving our 
station in fifteen minutes. If I were you I’d try 
mighty hard to get it. It won’t be healthy for you 
around here after it’s gone.” 

Cooke moistened his lips. “Why should I?” he 


315 


BEHIND THE STAND 

demanded in a weak attempt at bluster. ‘‘I paid 
to see this game-” 

‘‘That’s all right. You’ll get your money back. 
We’ve • bought your train ticket, and there’s 
eighteen cents change coming to you. You can 
walk to the station comfortably in twelve 
minutes.” The speaker looked at his -watch. 
“You’ve just got twelve if you start now. These 
chaps are going with you to show the way and see 
that you don’t change your mind.” 

Cooke looked at the faces surrounding him, bit 
his lip, laughed weakly and shrugged. “I sup¬ 
pose you think you’re frightfully clever,” he said, 
“but you’re not worrying me any. I don’t care 
to see the game, anyhow. We’ll beat you, so 
what’s it matter?” 

‘ ‘ Eleven minutes, ’ ’ was the reply. “You ’ll have 
to run if you don’t start quick.” 

“Suppose I don’t choose to go?” asked Cooke 
defiantly. 

“Why, that would be very unhealthy for you,” 
answered the other, a smile threatening his 
gravity. Cooke looked up at the stand. There 
were plenty of friends there, but there seemed to 
be no way of reaching them. At the top a few 
occupants of the last row were looking down 
curiously, but they appeared quite unsuspicious 



316 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


of the indignity being visited on their schoolmate. 
Cooke yielded. 

‘‘All right,” he muttered. 

“And, one thing more, Cooke,” said the spokes¬ 
man of the little committee, “it will be better if 
you don’t come over here with the baseball team 
next spring. In fact, if I were you, I’d take good 
care to stay away from here. We don’t like 
spies.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 

‘‘That^s all, I guess,said Coach Driscoll in con¬ 
clusion. “The main thing is to play hard, fel¬ 
lows, and play fast. I don’t think we’ll have to 
change our signals. If Kenwood was on to them 
she’d have showed it before this. So tear in now 
and show what you can really do. No more sleep¬ 
ing on the job, no more watchful waiting. Here’s 
your line-up. Stearns, Mellen, Cummins, Cantrell, 
Dobbins, Keith, Mistley, Cater, Meldrum, Brown, 
Poster. On the run now!” 

Myron, startled, gazed incredulously at the 
coach across the room. The others were heaving 
toward the doors, and he jumped up and followed, 
overtaking the coach in the corridor at the foot of 
the short stairway. 

“I—you said—me, Mr. Driscoll?” stammered 
Myron. 

“Yes,” answered the coach calmly. “You’re in, 
Foster.” 

“ Oh! ” He darted forward, stopped and sprang 
back again. ‘ ‘ Thank you, sir, ’ ’ he said gratefully. 

317 


318 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


“All right, my boy.” Mr. Driscoll smiled. 
“You know what to do!” 

Know what to do? Well, he rather thought he 
did, he told himself as he trotted across the little 
space of turf to the rope. His lips were very tight 
together and it wasn’t until Joe smote him re¬ 
soundingly between the shoulders that he knew 
he had been spoken to. 

‘ ^ Good stuff, kiddo! ” Joe was repeating. ‘ ‘ Glad 
you’re back. Go to it and eat ’em up. Brother!” 

The cheering was deafening. Across the 
trampled field the Kenwood players were already 
throwing aside their blankets. Near at hand the 
Warne Silver Cornet Band was blaring loudly, 
although all he got of it was the insistent thumps 
thump, thump! of the big drum. Then they were 
clustered on the side-line for a last earnest word 
from Jud Mellen and a minute later, spread over 
the east end of the gridiron, they awaited the 
whistle. 

Myron played through the first few minutes in 
a queer sort of daze. He got his signals, fell into 
place and went through the plays, but it was much 
as though some one else was doing it and he was 
only looking on. What brought him to, in a man¬ 
ner of speaking, was a fine clout on his head when, 
Kenwood having taken the ball on downs by a 


FULL-BACK POSTER 319 

few inches, the play piled through between Joe 
and Paul Keith and Myron found himself a part 
of the squirming heap two yards behind his line. 
The blow from some one’s shoe cleared his brain 
very effectively and the some one who played and 
the some one who looked on became instantly 
merged. Which, perhaps, was a lucky thing, since 
a minute later, after Kenwood’s quarter had fum¬ 
bled and Mistley had squirmed through on top of 
the ball, he was called on to punt. 

For an instant his nerves jangled badly while 
he awaited the ball with outstretched hands, but 
when he had it between his gripping fingers he 
forgot. A quick turn, a step forward, a swing of 
his long leg and a fine, full thud of leather against 
leather! Off sailed the ball, well over the up-flung 
hands of the enemy, straight toward the corner of 
the field. He side-stepped a charging Kenwood 
forward, went down under the kick and found his 
place again near the Blue’s twelve yards. Back 
up the gridiron presently, Kenwood kicking on 
the second down. Then a fake and a run to the 
right by Meldrum for a scant yard, a short gain 
past tackle on the left by Brown, and finally an¬ 
other punt, not so long this time. And so it went, 
neither side gaining her distance, both reverting to 
punts in the end. 


320 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


Time was taken out for Cantrell, again for 
Katie, again for a Kenwood end, and the game was 
slowing up. Two penalties were awarded, and the 
opponents shared them. It was near the end of 
the third quarter now. Brounker took Meldrum’s 
place and Kenwood changed her left guard. 
Myron was dirty and bruised and panting, but so 
they all were. Chas had a long cut down one 
cheek that made him look like a desperado, but 
he was grinning broadly every minute. Jud Mel- 
len was everywhere, encouraging, pleading, scold¬ 
ing, his voice sounding like the rasp of a file. 

Brounker got clean away and was forced out at 
liis own forty-six yards after a twelve-yard gain. 
The Brown flags waved and a great, cheer crashed 
across the field. Myron charged straight at the 
centre, found a hole awaiting him and sped 
through, Joe’s voice growling above the rasp of 
canvas and the laboured breaths of tired lungs. 
^^Atta hoy, hiddo! Atta hoy!^^ Back came the ball: 
Mistley had been off-side. Katie called Stearns 
around and slammed the ball at him as he sped 
past, but Kenwood had guessed the play and 
Stearns made less than a yard. Then Myron had 
the ball overhead and was watching Stearns run¬ 
ning back, far over on the left. A long heave 
and a good one, but a Kenwood half spoiled it and 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 321 

it was fourth down. Myron punted. A whistle 
blew. 

The mouthful of water no more than dampened 
Myron’s dry throat. 

‘‘Once I saw a whole pond full of this stuff,” 
panted Chas as he took the dipper from Myron. 

‘‘Shut up!” begged the other. ‘‘There ain’t no 
such thing!” 

Jud dragged Chas aside and Joe joined Myron 
as they walked over to where the umpire awaited 
them above the ball. “How’s it going?” asked 
Joe. “ Some game, kiddo, believe me! ” 

“Can’t we score, Joe?” asked Myron, scowling. 

“Sure we can! We’re going to! That centre 
of their line’s just ready to cave, kiddo. It’s all-in 
from tackle to tackle. The new guy they put in 
for Lampley’s a cinch. Keep at ’em. Brother! 
You’re going fine!” 

And yet the last quarter was many minutes old 
before Myron found any indication that Joe’s 
prophecy was to come true. Then, very sud¬ 
denly, Brown romped through the Blue’s centre 
and fought for eleven yards before he was brought 
down. That was the first decisive gain through 
the Kenwood line, and the Parkinson adherents 
shouted frantically. But another attack at the 
same place was stopped for less than two yards, 


322 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


and a third netted nothing. A skin-tackle play, 
Brounker carrying, gave the Brown five yards 
more. Faking a punt, Myron sped to the left, 
cut in and got the distance. Again came the 
Parkinson cheers. 

‘‘We’ve got them going, Parkinson!” cried 
Katie. “They can’t stop us now! Make this 
good, fellows! Play hard!” 

“Hard! Hard!” croaked Jud, smiting the 
crouching men. “Into it! Get into it, Parkin¬ 
son!” 

But there was a long road to travel and time 
was speeding, and although three times the Brown 
made her distance by narrow margins, on the 
twenty-three yards, with the Blue’s goal beckon¬ 
ing, Kenwood rallied and held through three 
downs. Then, while the shouting stands became 
silent, Paul Keith fell back and judged the 
distance to the cross-bar. Kenwood swayed and 
gasped, her quarter shrilly calling on his men to 

Bloch this hich! Bloch it! Bloch it!^^ Back 
sped the ball, was dropped— 

A groan arose from the Brown stand. Far to 
the right of the goal travelled the ball. The blue- 
stockinged warriors danced and shouted in glee. 
Keith’s head dropped despondently as he turned 
back up the field. ‘ ‘ Seven minutes to play, ’ ’ called 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 323 

the field judge. Then they were battling 
again. 

Perhaps that lost score had its effect, for Ken¬ 
wood was soon in Parkinson territory. As far as 
the thirty yards she went before she was stopped. 
Her punt went over the line and the ball came out 
to the twenty-five. Two attacks at the Kenwood 
centre brought the distance. Kenwood had new 
material in her line now. Brown tried an end and 
got three. But he was hurt and Vance took his 
place. Vance was stopped for a slight loss when 
he tried left tackle. Myron gained four through 
left guard and Brounker followed with three more. 
The tape left the ball in Parkinson’s possession. 
Another forward, Myron to Stearns, failed. The 
ball was in mid-field now and there were but three 
minutes left. The stands were already emptying 
slowly. Coach Driscoll began sending in substi¬ 
tutes, fellows who had worked hard and deserved 
their letters. Joe was gone, Cummins, Cater, even 
Keith, who alone might score a field-goal should 
Fortune give the opportunity. Warren had taken 
Cater’s place. Warren was fresh and eager and 
undismayed. His signals came snappily, and he 
pushed the wearied veterans hard. 

‘ ‘ Make it go!” he chanted. ‘ ^ Make it go! Don’t 
give up the ball! There’s time enough left to 


324 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


score. Here’s where we get away from them. 
Come on, Parkinson! Show your grit!” 

Brounker and Vance gained. The Kenwood line 
was weakening fast now, but Myron feared that it 
was too late. Vance again, past left tackle on a 
criss-cross. Then Myron, sliding oft left guard 
for the needed distance. Well past the fifty-yard 
line now, and still going, but with seconds remain¬ 
ing instead of minutes and the time-keeper’s eyes 
glued to the dial of his watch. If only they could 
get past those Kenwood backs, thought Myron! 
The Blue line was pasteboard now, but the backs 
still fought hard and held firm. Somewhere near 
the enemy’s thirty yards Warren called a sequence 
and Myron’s heart leaped. If they played quickly, 
smoothly, they must get through! Brounker tried 
left of centre and piled through, but was nailed by 
Kenwood’s backs. Four yards! Then, without 
signals, the team snapped into the next play. A 
quick shift to the right, Brounker sprang away to 
the left, the ball sped back straight from centre 
and Myron caught it. Kenwood sensed danger 
now and shifted back to meet it, but Myron was 
already charging past the left of the line, the inter¬ 
ference working like a charm. He was through 
before he realised it and only a surprised quarter¬ 
back stood between him and the goal! 


FULL-BACK POSTER 325 

Ahead and at his right sped Vance, tuckered hut 
still game. Behind him weary feet pounded. In 
his ears was a mighty noise that he knew for the 
wild, imploring shrieks of friend and foe. 
Through it came the dull thump, thump! of the 
bass drum. Twenty yards more now, and the 
quarter, white-faced and desperate, running 
toward him with clutching fingers. Then Vance 
was down, run out, and Myron was alone. Fifteen 
yards and the Kenwood quarter-back poising for 
his tackle! Myron gave a little toward the side¬ 
line, slackened his pace and then, with a final de¬ 
mand on his strength, sprang forward again at 
renewed speed. The quarter-hack leaped. Myron 
felt his arms at his hips as he spun on his heel. 
One arm fell away, but a hand closed inside his 
leg above the knee and a great weight pulled at 
him. One plunge, a second, and the last line was 
swimming in his sight. Then, as if by a miracle, 
the clutching hand was gone, and, freed of the 
dragging burden, Myron stumbled, fell to his 
knees, recovered and went on, straight across the 
last white line to victory I 

Parkinson did not add a goal to her touchdown. 
She did not even try, for the crowd that over¬ 
spread the field refused to be dispersed, and, since 


326 


FULL-BACK FOSTER 


the last second of play had ticked itself off just be¬ 
fore Myron had reached the line, no one insisted 
very hard. Parkinson was satisfied with that lone 
6; and if Kenwood was not, why, that was of small 
moment! Blue banners waved, the band led, the 
victors followed, caps floated across the goal bars, 
the big drum said Thump! Thump! Thump! and 
pandemonium reigned supreme over Parkinson 
Field. 

Some four hours later, Andrew Merriman, 
crossing the campus on his way to Sohmer, almost 
collided with a small and visibly excited youth 
who, panting an apology, added: “They Ve elected 
the new captain! I got it from a waiter!^’ 

‘ ‘ Have they, son ? Well, who is he U ’ 

“Bet you couldn’t guess! I’ve told three fel¬ 
lows already and not one of them guessed right!” 

“Then there’s no use in my trying,” replied 
Andrew amiably. “Suppose you tell me.” 

^ ‘ It’s— Cummins! ^ ’ 

“Yes, it is! What do you think of that? Why, 
no one expected he^d get it!” 

“No one,” chuckled Andrew as the youngster 
disappeared into the gloom. “Anyway, no one 
but Cunnnins!” 


I 








































